


For the Greater Good

by Sappho (Smim)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Assassin!Steve, M/M, Mobsterboss!Tony, Undercover!Steve, bottom!Steve, somewhat slowburn, top!tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smim/pseuds/Sappho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is a mobster boss, feared and renowned and practically untouchable. Then he finds himself a new  assassin who stands out amongst the rest, a mysterious Steve Rogers who is suspiciously good at his job and far too cool and collected around Tony considering his fame. Of course, there is more to him than meets the eye...Steve having been working undercover for over a year to begin to take down the tyrant that Tony Stark was. </p><p>But when Steve's feelings begin to mess with his work he's faced with some tough decisions that make him question his own morality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I had this idea floating around in my head for a while so here we go...hope someone out there enjoys it. I have no idea how regular I'll be with updates or if it will be finished (though I do hope it will be.) So yep, here we go... x

Steve's Rogers was a simple man who was good at his job. That much was evident. Tony Stark surveyed the latest reports that had been pushed across his expensive, mahogany desk with an air of nonchalance. Though admittedly he was impressed. A half empty tumbler was held lazily in his left hand, elbow lent on the wood, his right flicking through the photographs. Three kills in as many weeks. Clean shots with only one bullet. The police had no evidence and were left dumbfounded, running around so uselessly it was almost cute. So yes, Stark was impressed. Assassins were usually brooding creatures, far too caught up in their own angst and troubled pasts to be effective. Tony didn't appreciate the melodramatic rumbles of 'he dies tonight'. Rogers was different, clean cut and neat with his simple 'sure thing boss. Whatever you want.'

Tony also admittedly appreciated the suggestion in such replies and that served to amuse him a little. And not much made him smile these days. 

Tony had worked himself up to where he was with blood, sweat and tears. He'd started as a mechanic, an engineer, building weaponry until he was successful enough to have other people build his designs for him. Perhaps he could have put his skills towards more...noble causes, but where would the fun in that be? No. This was his domain, corruption, greed and profit. All on the basis of violence and rivalry. It sure was fun. 

He dragged his fingers across the smooth surface of the desk and lent back with his seat with a sigh, staring down at the blood soaked pavement in the photo as he downed the rest of his drink. He'd done that. He'd made that happen just by asking. In a sense that made Tony feel even more powerful then when he'd been on the other end, pulling the trigger. And he'd been there many a time. But that was the convenient thing about being rich, you could get just others to do all the dirty work for you. With just a few words.

“Mr Stark,” Pepper's efficient voice filtered through the phone on his desk. “Rogers is here to see you.”

“Send him in Pep,” Tony chimed, straightening up in his seat, setting down the glass and closing the file. After all, first impressions were important. 

The assassin looked far too innocent to be an assassin, head ducked almost bashfully as he stepped into the office with a soft smile and easy eyes. “Mr Stark?”

It was hard not to stare, really. The man wore nothing but black, tight fitting gear which left little to the imagination, supposedly his 'work clothes'. The assassin glanced around the office casually, hands clasped loosely behind his back, no doubt getting a hold of his surroundings. Stark could understand that. He also couldn't help but admire the swell of the man's ass as he turned around but then Tony's eyes smoothly dragged back up to Roger's face with an effortlessly charming smile. His voice velvet when he spoke, “it's good to finally see your face Rogers. I've appreciated your good work these past few weeks, how come I haven't heard of you before now?”

“I'm only noticed when I want to be,” Steve replied coolly. “And a few weeks, ago...well,” he shrugged, something akin to mischief glinting in those baby blue eyes. “I wanted to be noticed. You weren't disappointed then?”

“I was satisfied,” Stark affirmed with a hum and gestured to a small duffel bag let against the desk. “Your payment is in there. 30,000 per kill as we agreed and a little bonus, for...completely satisfying me.”

Rogers smirked subtly, not bothering to check the bag, taking Stark's word for it. Interesting.

“And do you have any more work for me Mr Stark?” Rogers breathed, hands still clasped behind his back, back soldier-straight. 

“You want a drink?” Tony offered as he moved over to a cabinet to refill his glass, ignoring the question for now, the oaky smell of whiskey filtering into the air from the old and, no doubt, outrageously expensive bottle. 

“I don't drink on the job,” Steve shook his head and Tony let out a soft laugh. 

“Sort of pinned you as the paranoid type. Surprised you didn't climb through my window to avoid security.”

“I considered it,” Steve admitted. Tony couldn't quite tell if the man was joking or not. Though he did appear to tilt his head in a somewhat playful manner. Maybe working with this Assassin could be more fun than anticipated. 

“I have five more names for you,” Tony said as he returned to his desk, forgoing the chair to lean against the desk itself, tumbler held gracefully in hand as he took a sip. Roger's expression remained unreadable, eyes fixed on Stark's face at all times. The man kept his cool well. 

Tony was feared in this city. Everyone knew his name, knew the weight that came with it. Tony Stark always got what he wanted, owned almost everything and had power and influence over more. Assassins often stumbled over words and slurred sentences when they stepped into his office, wringing their hands in front of themselves anxiously like all the other business men. But Rogers was different. Rogers was so damn professional, straight forward and had a nice ass to top it off. All in all it was refreshing. 

“I'll give you one name tonight. When it's done I'll give you the next,” Tony said and moved to his desk drawer, holding out an envelope. “I know him personally,” he said and Steve raised a brow in surprise though said nothing. “There's a photo inside and his address, just to make things smoother.” 

“Tell me Rogers do you provide other services?” Tony asked abruptly and the assassin blinked.

“Whatever my skill set covers,” he answered, tone plain and simple, giving nothing away.

“Make it messy,” Tony told him as he stepped forward, tucking the envelope into the inside pocket of Roger's jacket himself. He smirked subtly, dark hazel eyes bright with something wicked as he looked up into Roger's set gaze, their faces far too close for comfort. 

“I can do messy,” Rogers murmured, something dark flitting over his features briefly before he stepped back. “Give me a week. Just like the others, let me know if you want anything more...specific,” he said, tone almost careful. “So if that's all Mr Stark, I'll be going...”

“Yes Rogers,” Stark nodded, sipping at his drink and taking out his phone which had just begun to ring in his pocket. He gestured to the door with his tumbler, “I'll see you in a week. Hello? Ah yes...” Steve took the duffel bag and headed out with another nod in silent recognition before he slipped through the door. Tony may or may not have cocked his head to admire the view as the assassin made his way out. 

It was the little things in life, right? Tony made sure to appreciate them. Though after meeting Steve Rogers he still wasn't sure what he felt about the man other than generally being impressed by his work and clean cut efficiency...but there was something under the surface, something Tony couldn't quite make out yet. And that frustrated him to no end.

Once he was off his phone call he made one to Pepper, “I want Rogers followed. I want to know where he lives, or where he goes. Just get me something.”

*

Steve Rogers stepped out onto the street with a soft, withered breath, duffel bag slung over one shoulder as he made his way towards the closest main road and tube station. Stark's mansion a tall looming presence over him as he walked out of the gates, finding himself glancing back once or twice consciously. He'd barely kept his cool in there. Jesus, he heard an awful lot about Tony Stark (all of it bad) but nothing could have prepared him for being in front of the man himself. He'd not wanted to show any weakness and could only hope he'd succeeded. He was intimidating, the easy smile and the elegance of his each movement made him look almost ethereal. He sucked the life out of the room. Steve could understand why he was feared as much as he was. 

He could still see the echo of those dark brown eyes boring into his own, probing as if he were just waiting Steve to break. But he hadn't, he'd managed to keep up his cool, calm and collected demeanour and for that he was eternally grateful. There was too much on the line for Steve to screw this up now. 

Steve dragged the bag onto both shoulders as he stepped into the tube station. When he got on his train he didn't sit, one hand curled around a bar as he body swayed subtly with each twist and turn. His gaze flitted around the cart. Three. He counted three men with ear pieces in, one trying to look like he was reading the newspaper and not staring at Steve who was failing quite embarrassingly. Steve smirked subtly to himself. For all his masterful presence and influence Tony Stark was rather transparent in some ways. 

Surprise, surprise...when Steve got off at his stop so did the three men. All dressed in nondescript clothing but clearly well built like Steve himself, following on with lazy steps. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned he next street corner sharply. Steve had done this before, and he'd anticipated it. Another turn then a sharper one down a side street. He pulled the keys from his pocket and tugged his hood over his head as he climbed onto his motorbike that he'd parked by the curb. He revved up the engine and drove off, smiling faintly to himself as he heard a muttered curse under the breath of the man who'd been following just a few metres behind him. 

Steve drove a long route home, taking over half an hour just to be safe before he finally parked outside his apartment block. 

Steve's flat was modest and nondescript, exactly what you'd expect from an 'assassin'. The pots from his dinner earlier drying on the sink, the cutlery all neatly tucked away in the drawer and each cupboard was methodically filled with food. The living space was equally plain, the only hint of personality in the books that littered the shelf that lined one wall. Steve sighed, walking up to it, pulling out a copy of Moby Dick and opening it. The pages hollowed out to allow a mobile phone to sit inside.

He took it out, turning it on as he walked back into the kitchen. He dumped the duffel bag on the small, circular dining table before grabbing an apple and biting into its green flesh, licking the sour juice from the corners of his lips as he scrolled through the mobile. He unzipped his jacket, pulling out the envelope Stark had given him as the ring tone dialled.

“Shield,” the voice greeted, smooth like black coffee. Shield had been his code name for over a year now, it felt natural to respond to it. “I assume the meeting went as planned?”

“It did Sir,” Steve affirmed, drawing out the picture to inspect it, the name Justin Hammer scrawled across the back in spidery handwriting. The man looked annoying, glasses slipping down his slim nose, his suit far too posh. He looked fake, superficial. Steve didn't like those types of people all too much. “I've been given a fourth target.”

“Excellent. Continue as planned. Do good work. Gain his trust. We could bring him in now but if we want to actually get a conviction the target's lawyers can't weasel him out of we need some good fucking results. We need solid proof, do you understand shield?”

“I do director.”

The line went dead. Steve returned the phone to the book after switching it off chucked the apple chore in the bin and then sat in front of the tv with just the news on, laptop propped against his knees as he did his research on this Justin Hammer. He could still remember Stark though, the conversation...I can do messy. Why had he said that? Steve sighed to himself in frustration. Killing was one thing, and he'd never found it easy. Causing real pain to someone was something else though. Steve didn't enjoy nor relish it, but he had to pretend to. He'd been an 'assassin' for over a year now, killing and getting paid for it as he wormed his way up the ladder, getting himself noticed more and more. It was scary how quickly he'd adapted to the lifestyle. He'd been in undercover work his whole life, been forced to kill people...but never on this scale. Least, Steve comforted himself with the thought, that the people he was killing were all as bad as each other. And the end goal would make it all worth it.

At least that's what Steve told himself to help him sleep at night. 

The next morning he got up at six on the dot. He dressed in all black, got all his things ready carefully and with precision. Sniper rifle loaded with three bullets (he never needed more than three) and blade slipped into the inside of his jacket. He tucked the gun away neatly into a bag and dragged it over his shoulders. He opened his wardrobe door, staring at his hollow eyes in the reflection of the mirror set into the inside of the door, then Steve lifted the picture and stuck it on the mirror. Justin Hammer's face stuck amongst all the others. Steve didn't always have pictures so sometimes he had to drawn his own, the sketches crude and made with thick, messy lines of black and blue biro. But the important thing was having all their faces there, so he couldn't forget.

Steve would never forget.

He sent a simple text to Stark that night, bloodied fingers slipping over the touch screen of his phone, leaving sickly pink smears across the white screen. 

All done and dusted Stark. SR


	2. Chapter 2

It made the news. Often Steve's targets did of course, people taking a bullet through the temple in broad daylight in the street often drew a lot of media attention but Justin Hammer made headlines, front pages. His bloodied body stretched across the Independent with the harrowing title of “HAMMER SLAUGHTERED IN HIS OWN HOME.” The man had been a big business man in their town, got up in some nasty business and apparently thought he didn't have to do what Stark told him to. Hammer acted as a lesson to everyone else, Steve included. With his own hands he'd learnt the price of disobedience, not even betrayal, just...rebelling against Stark's word in one instance now meant death. It certainly wasn't a comfort.

Steve shivered as he remembered...the knife slipping between bloody, sticky fingers as it sank into flesh and grazed against bone. The trembling cry of Hammer as he clutched as Steve's arms with shaking hands, “I-I can....I can pay you m-more...” Of course none of this was about money. It was all about so much more than that...and unfortunately Hammer had had to pay the price. When he'd gotten home that night he'd thrown up in his kitchen sink, red stained fingers slipping against the cold metal, body shuddering in disgust. It would take years to get those images out of his head. 

The assassin sighed and rubbed at his temple as the lift doors pinged open and he stepped out onto the top floor of Stark's home where the man's office lay. When he started being called out to the man's central city homes things would get easier, this place was clearly a professional hub as the face of everything Stark. Whilst he let assassins through the door Steve highly doubted there was anything solid here that he could use as evidence. He saw files in arms constantly, everything was recorded and being moved around. And he couldn't take something and have its absence noticed. 

He stopped before Pepper's desk. The woman looked at Steve with an air of distaste, not that he could blame her mind. She picked up her phone, “Tony...Rogers is here.” She glanced him down, not admiring in any way but methodical as If she expected to see a weapon of some kind. Or blood. 

“You really don't look like any of the rest,” she said abruptly and Steve blinked.

“Excuse me?” He tilted his head in question, hands clasped neatly behind his back as always. 

Pepper's eyes narrowed a little and she sighed, almost to herself, tucking a loose strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “Tony will see you now.”

Steve nodded, ignoring the way she stared him down as he moved on through. The woman didn't like assassins, didn't like Steve, both completely reasonable attitudes. He knocked once before stepping inside the man's office. 

Tony didn't even look up from where he was sat at his desk clad in a crisp, sharp suit as he studied the photograph in his hand. He turned it round for Steve to see, eyes bright like that of a child's. Steve sucked in a short breath.  
It was Hammer...a picture of him. And god all the blood. He wanted to be a sick again- but no, now wasn't the time for that. He had pull himself together. Steve allowed a subtle smile to curl onto the edge of his lips as he stepped forward, “satisfied Stark?”

“It was tasteful, I appreciate that. I like it when people leave the faces on...”

Jesus, Steve thought. What kind of people did Stark usually hire? Being an assassin and killing people with the clean hit of a bullet was one thing, enjoying doing that sort of thing was something else entirely. 

“Of course you'll get extra,” Stark gestured to the bag by the desk. “Fifty. Seems only fitting.”

“Whatever you say Mr Stark,” Steve replied diplomatically with a small nod and Tony laughed, but it was a hollow sound. The way his eyes moved over Steve was almost predatory, he almost felt like he was about to be eaten alive by the man in front of him. Steve felt like he was going to be...consumed. Just Stark's presence alone was terrific, the man's steady gaze making Steve's breath hitch a little. But he kept his face straight, expression unreadable as he pressed his thumb into his palm in an attempt to focus. He'd been trained for all this before, he could do it. 

Steve had been in the force ever since he could remember. Nick Fury (the 'director') having taken him in after his parents had died, having found him at a childrens' home stating that he had 'potential'. Fury had his own undercover unit within the police force that enjoyed more liberties than it probably should, but they got results and at the age of only seventeen Steve had become a part of it. Now at the age of twenty five he was experienced and had weaselled his way out of more than a few sticky situations. But this was Tony Stark, everything was new territory. Everything was potentially deadly. 

“I think you might need to loosen up Rogers,” Mr Stark told him, drawing out an envelope as Steve dragged the duffel bag over his shoulders. “What do you do when you're not killing people, huh?”

Steve's long fingers pinched the edge of the envelope and he took it from the other's hands, tucking it into his jacket. He smirked faintly and shrugged, “I don't know...I suppose I try to find ways to...relieve stress,” he said, tone purposefully ambiguous. 

“Well have fun relieving your 'stress' Rogers,” Stark murmured, apparently bemused as he began to busy himself with other work. Steve nodded and took that as his cue to leave. He turned back just before he slipped through the door, noticing how Stark's eyes easily moved up to his face from...lower down. Interesting...and not subtle in the slightest. The other didn't seem remotely ashamed though.

“I'll be seeing you Mr Stark,” Steve breathed, amusement glinting in his own eyes before he walked out, leaving Tony grinning to himself.

*

“Tony...I don't like him.”

Pepper dropped the files down on his desk unceremoniously. Some factory reports, nothing exciting. Tony sighed and looked up at his number two, “you never like any of them.”

“This one I especially don't like,” Pepper said. “The way he walks in here, it's like he's won a damn prize or something. I don't trust him.”

“You don't trust anyone.”

“Neither do you.”

Tony shrugged, “the man knows I tried to have him followed I'm sure...and I'm honestly impressed he managed to evade them.”

“You didn't have him followed again?” Pepper raised a brow, one hand on her hip. “Since when did you give up so easily?”

Tony chuckled, “who says I did? Sometimes you just have to do things the old fashion way Pep.”

*

Steve got home feeling weary. He dropped the money on the table and sank down into one of the chairs with a sigh, letting his eyes drift shut briefly. Then he fumbled blindly and drew out the envelope, taking the photograph out. The man looked old, the name 'Obadiah Stane' scribbled on the back with the same sinister handwriting. Underneath that was a time and a date with the man's address. The instruction was clear. It was like an appointment time, cold and calculated. Stane would die on Wednesday at four in the afternoon.

Then he frowned a little, feeling a lump in the envelope. Steve drew out a small flashing device no bigger than his thumb. A tracker. “Shit...” he dropped it to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his boot. It didn't matter though, it was too late. Stark had gotten what he wanted and now he knew where Steve was living, all because he'd made such a damned rookie mistake. He'd expected to be followed home again, not something as bloody cheeky as this. “Shit,” Steve breathed again, fingers tangling in his hair as he tilted his head back. 

Then he dragged himself over to the bookcase.

He called Fury, who obviously wasn't best pleased. “We want him to think you're a competent at what you do shield, not an amateur. Everything with him is a test and you just failed.”

“I know,” Steve breathed, rubbing at his temple. “I know Sir. It won't happen again.”

“See that it bloody well doesn't. And I saw about the last target...are you okay shield?” Fury's voice dropped to more tender tone briefly, a hint of concern laced into his voice. 

Steve paused for a moment before answering in a murmur, “I'm okay director,” he affirmed and then the line went dead. 

On Wednesday morning Steve got up and got himself ready, taking extra time in the shower to enjoy hot water running over limbs as the bathroom itself was filled with the pungent smell of peaches. It helped him calm him and clear his mind for the days events ahead. All dressed and bag packed. Steve only had one thing left to do. He opened his wardrobe door, stared into those dull blue eyes for a moment before he lifted up Stane's picture and stuck it right next to Hammer's. He'd stopped keeping track of the number after a while, he really didn't want to know. Steve had all their faces here, that was enough. 

“You can do this,” Steve whispered to himself, voice wavering in its conviction before he closed the wardrobe door and headed out. 

The security at Stane's ridiculous home was tricky, but nothing a few darts dipped in sedative couldn't solve. Steve was pressed flat against the top of the high stone wall that lined the man's garden as he knocked out the last security guard currently in sight, the guard's bulky body dropping onto the grass with a soft thud. Then the assassin rolled off the wall, landing in a bed of pansies with a gracefulness that only came from practise. It was a shame it wasn't night time, the darkness would have made things a lot simpler but Steve was adaptable, he had to be. 

His black jacket hood shielded his face as he moved across the garden, heading to the east side of the house to climb up an exposed drainpipe. The climb was easy though it took him some time to pick the lock of the window, Steve's legs quivering a little with the effort as he had to keep himself locked around the pipe, fingers working diligently. Then he dropped down inside, feet landing softly on a plush carpet. 

Two more guards in the hallway were dealt with and he moved on through, footsteps soft and careful as he followed the dull bellow of voices deeper inside the house. A loud, deep voice that was supposedly Stane's...and another which sounded oddly familiar. 

Two more guards and Steve was outside the door, breathing even and quiet as he listened. Only two voices. He opened the door with a nudge of his foot, ready to sedate Stane's company when he stilled in his tracks, eyes admittedly going a little wide.

“Ah! Steve! I was hoping you'd join us soon.”

Stark was smiling to himself, looking far too smug from where he was lent back on one of Stane's sofas. The older man in question paused and looked between the two, eyes going much wider than Steve's had.

“Tony?” The man tried for an easy laugh but it came out as nervous as he looked. “Who's this?”

“It's Steve...” Tony said, tone impatient as he waved a hand obviously. Then he beckoned to the assassin with an incline of two fingers, “come on Rogers, we don't have all day.”

Then Steve's expression shifted with recognition, his hand tucking the sedatives away automatically. The reason Tony was here was because he wanted to watch...he wanted to see Steve work. He would have an audience, something he wasn't unused to but never before had Steve had to essentially preform doing this nature of killing. The man knew where he lived and now this. 

Tearing a man apart like Steve had Hammer...you can't help but expose parts of yourself in the process, the darkest recesses of your conscience you never wanted to acknowledge or let out, the grim satisfaction of fear in their eyes...Steve swallowed, clasping his hands lightly behind his back. He could...he could do this...

“This is Obadiah Steve, but then you already knew that,” Tony introduced lazily. “And this is Steve...he did some fantastic work with Hammer, you saw that didn't you Obi?”

The man, rather pitifully, made a run for the door. Steve caught him easily with a hand on his chest, he might have been weighty but Steve was built with muscle over fat. He stopped him easily and pushed Stane back, making shushing sound as if to comfort the man now trembling before him. As much as Steve was loathed to admit it...this sort of fear, instilling it in someone else, it made him feel powerful.

“Hey now, let's not do anything too hasty,” Steve breathed softly and then pushed the man down to sit on the sofa behind him.

“Tony...Tony I don't. Please,” Stane said hurriedly, eyes alight with fright. “You don't have to do this!”

“You were planning a coup. You were going to try and overthrow me,” Tony said nonchalantly like it was nothing significant. “After everything, after all we've been through...well it's just plain rude Obi. Plain inconsiderate.”

“You're going to run us all into the ground!” Stane suddenly snapped, a foolishly bravery sparking within him. “You don't know what you're doing Tony, your father-”

“Stop!” Tony looked irritated now, he raised a hand then nodded to Steve.

“How long did Hammer take?”

“An hour,” the assassin replied simply, pulling the knife from his jacket.

Tony hummed and stood, eyes darkening as he stared down at Stane who was now shrinking in on himself and into the sofa. “Make it three...” he told him.

Steve twirled the blade in his fingers. So that was the price of betrayal. Three hours.

“But it can be shortened,” Tony added. “If you give us other names Obi...”

That had been a lie. Steve had gotten all of the names out of Stane within the first hour, the man whimpering and blood slicked as he gargled each one. Tony had listened intently then looked down to Steve who was currently on his knees, flecs of blood lining that chiselled jawline. 

“Don't stop,” Stark instructed plainly and Steve nodded, watching the man walk out of the room before he looked back down at Stane. Another two hours then...

He remembered glancing up at the end, the whole event a little hazy for Steve, filled only with red and screams as Stane shuddered underneath him. Steve spotted Tony in the doorway, lent against the frame with a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand (presumably taken from Stane's kitchen). His expression was pensive as he watched Steve, as if considering something. Then he tilted his head in a silent command. There was twenty more minutes left. Steve had to use them wisely.

The man's body quivering in relief as he died, Steve's blade slowly sinking into his neck as the third hour was up. Stark said nothing for a while, just glancing back between Obadiah and Steve for a few minutes until he finally spoke up. “He practically raised me,” he said, voice hollow and empty. Then Tony downed his tumbler and the usual demeanour was back, an easy smirk lining his lips despite the dead body in the room.

“Clean up and I'll see you on Friday for your payment and your next name. Just keep up the good work Rogers.”

Steve nodded and remained quiet, watching the man go before he dropped the knife. He stumbled over to one of the sofas, sinking down onto it with a withered breath. He sucked in a gasp as he looked over at the corpse before him and ran a hand over face, grimacing as the coppery liquid smeared over his skin. Was this another test? Was that all it was? Had Steve even passed? 

He wasn't sure he even wanted to. 

Steve had no power in this. He had to do whatever Stark said or wanted and the reality of that was terrifying because it lead to moments like this. After a few moments respite Steve forced himself up on wobbly legs, he needed to clean himself from this place and he only had a few hours before the guards would begin to wake up. 

*

“Drive Happy,” Tony sighed as he dropped down into his car, his driver nodding subtly before starting it up. He was on his phone, scrolling through texts and emails lazily. 

“Everything go to plan boss?” Happy asked, of course oblivious to just went on inside. Tony liked to keep it that way, his corruption need only seep so far. Men like Steve Rogers, there was no point hiding anything from them. But with people as sweet as Happy it was worth keeping up appearances.

“Swimmingly,” Tony assured him and his driver smiled a little.

“Glad to hear it Sir.” 

Rogers was...exceptional in every sense of the word. That level of professionalism in an assassin was a rarity, he kept so much control, never slipping too far...often men got carried away in Steve's position, sank the blade in too deep or too far so the victim died sooner than preferred. But he'd managed to drag Obadiah out for the full three hours, that level of patience was something Tony could only admire.

Of course Stane's death was a great shame but a necessity, the man was a traitor and there was little point in Tony grieving him. He smiled as he opened the next email, a picture from Rhodey (the head of his security team) that depicted Rogers leaving his apartment block that very morning. A confirmation that they'd found where he lived. Tony couldn't help but finding himself admiring the way the sun danced across the man's cheek and dexterous fingers as he pulled his hood up over his face before he tucked his phone away. The sight almost a pretty one.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve had few flaws aside from the whole obvious killing people for money so he could eventually put worse people thing. Though he did (even he would admit it) have quite trashy taste in music. Loud base, high beats and electronically manipulated voices with cheesy lyrics all served to come together to form his guilty pleasure. After more...traumatic kills such as Hammer and Stane's Steve always needed to take a few days to come down from it all. The high and the adrenaline from the kill as well as the disgust from the reality of it. He'd spent most of Thursday in bed, shutting out the world but forced himself into action on Friday. He expected that Stark intended for him to visit in the evening as per usual. 

Steve dragged himself out of bed with a sigh, tugging on a cotton tee before tottering into the kitchen with sleepy steps. If he'd been more awake he might have noticed that his books were slightly astray on the kitchen counter and that his fruit bowl was missing an orange from the night before. But Steve had only just woken up from one of his deepest sleeps in weeks. He remained blissfully ignorant as he grabbed his iPod, slipping on headphones and scrolling down to a song so terrible he could just imagine Sam's look of disapproval. 

Sam was like him, worked undercover. They'd done a few jobs together in the past, they were close in a brotherly sense he supposed but it was hard to keep friendships fuelled in this line of work. No contact for over a year. Kinda made things awkward. 

To Steve a fight was often like a dance, the fluid movement of two bodies together, one often leading, both reacting to and around each other. The only difference being in a fight there was a winner. So yes, Steve liked to dance. He also liked to make his usual English breakfast fry up whilst doing so, humming corny lyrics half-heartedly as he cracked two eggs into a pan alongside bacon and mushrooms, cooking them sunny side up. He hadn't even noticed the other figure moving across the room behind him as he plated up. Grabbing cutlery when he-

Steve frowned subtly. Books were in the wrong place. Two oranges instead of three. His fingers closed around the handle of the knife and then he spun round.

“S'okay Rogers, you can eat your breakfast that you clearly so...lovingly prepared.”

So this was the play then. Tony Stark was stood in his kitchen, chewing on an orange segment dressed in a navy blue suit today looking far too bloody pleased with himself. Of course he'd come to invade Steve's only personal space, damn bastard. Steve just scowled at him, setting the plate on the table a little roughly as his eyes narrowed. He was stood there in only an old cotton shirt and his boxers, hardly professional nor ideal. 

He was supposed to be unsettled, perturbed by having Stark in his home. But right now Steve was just pissed off, his blissful breakfast ruined by the grinning mobsterboss before him, images of Hammer and Stane's lifeless bodies flickering back to the forefront of his mind. It just wasn't fair. His hair was probably a mess too, stuck up in fifteen different directions thanks to the way he slept. Fantastic.

“What do you want?” Steve grumbled, voice thick from sleep as he dropped the iPod and headphones on the table, leaving his ears free. Had he seen him dancing too? Oh god, could this get more embarrassing? All professionalism was suddenly out of the window. This was Steve's home, of course he was going to feel more comfortable about being a complete and utter arse to his boss. He did deserve it though. 

“I just came here to pay you,” Tony shrugged, smile unnervingly innocent as he gestured to a duffel bag he'd left in the hallway. Steve raised a brow, knowing that couldn't be all as he chewed on a slice of bacon. “And there's somewhere you need to be.”

“What is this? Since when were you dragging me round places?” Steve asked between mouthfuls and Tony laughed in surprise, shaking his head to himself.

“Not many people speak to me like that.”

“Maybe most people have a higher tolerance level for all your bullshit,” Steve breathed. He wasn't one to swear much, but in this business people did. Also at nine on a Friday morning when your boss rudely interrupts breakfast it felt more than a little natural as it spilt out from between his lips.

Tony laughed again, though when he tilted his head a dark look flitted over his features. “I need you dressed in ten minutes. I have a job for you.”

“Can't you just-”

“Dressed. Ten minutes.” Tony repeated coolly though his tone had a sharper edge to it, a soft underlining hiss edging into his words as his patience ran thin. 

Steve swallowed and glanced up, a shudder admittedly running down his spin and not in a good way. He chimed out those empty words. “Sure thing boss. Whatever you want.”

So fifteen minutes later Steve was awkwardly sat in the back of Stark's car, dressed in his usual black get up when the man in question typed away on his phone next to him. The driver of the car looked far too cheerful, did he even know what Steve was? What Stark was for that matter? Or was he on something? All valid questions in Steve's opinion. 

“Do I at least get to know where we're going?” Steve asked, sounding somewhat exasperated. This was against all his instincts. He had little idea where they were, he hadn't more than a knife on him in means of defence in case something went wrong and he was in Tony Stark's car, of all the people to be stuck in a confined space with Stark was no doubt the worst. 

“Have you heard of Natasha Romanoff?”

Of course Steve had...what a stupid question. He'd done extensive research about all of them before going undercover, their names and histories ingrained into the back of his mind. Though Natasha Romanoff's past had been shadier than most, got caught up in a lot of nasty business in Russia. She'd made a great deal of enemies. Hence why she had the best bodyguard there was, Clint Barton. The man never left her side and he was irrefutably loyal, a rare and valued trait in their line of work. Barton himself had come from the circus, where they'd taught him to use a bow and a blade and fend for himself. That had ended messily too until he found himself at Romanoff's side. They all came from messy paths it seemed. Steve supposed he was no exception.

But Stark was another matter. His past was shrouded in darkness, blotted out from all records and files. Almost like he hadn't existed at one point. And admittedly Steve did find himself becoming curious now and then, what had driven that man to be where he was today? Thus meaning Steve had ended up where he was too.

Steve didn't want to sound like he'd done months of research though and just went with, “er...she owns that bar on West Street right?”

“She owns a lot more than that. Coincidentally we're headed there right now though. She has a job that needs doing and you'll be perfect for it.”

Steve raised a brow, “you owe her a favour or something?”

Tony smiled almost manically, “everyone owes Natasha Romanoff something Rogers.”

Now that much was true.

The bar was a classy place, all blue and black and sleek. Glass doors opened for them automatically as they stepped inside and a young looking woman who introduced herself as Kate gestured for them to head to the back. The bar was filled with the 'right kind' of people, all business types with polite, airy conversation and sweet, shrill laughs. Despite the early hour many people had drinks in their hands. That was one thing Steve heard about Stark, he enjoyed his liquor a little too much and he'd seen plenty of evidence for that. 

At the back the tables were mostly empty, a ginger woman sat in a black dress and a scarlet red jacket occupying one of the few. She was tapping away on her phone as she murmured to the stony-faced man sat next to her. He glanced up as Stark approached with Steve in toe, the edge of his lips quirking up in something akin to amusement. “Tony,” the woman breathed in greeting, glancing up herself with a soft smile. She looked over Steve briefly before turning to Stark, “please. Sit.” She gestured to him, but not to Steve. He would remain standing. Fine by him.

“You said you could help with my problem,” Natasha said and gave Tony a pointed look who offered an easy smile in return as a drink was wordlessly set down in front of him by one of the waitresses. Whiskey by the looks of it, the tumbler over half full. He came here a lot then Steve noted. 

“Rogers can handle it,” Tony waved a hand. “He's been doing a few odd jobs for me lately. More than satisfactory.” 

“Stane and Hammer, yes I've seen,” Natasha hummed and Clint's face next to her hardened as he took Steve in with a more serious gaze, making the connection between the kills and the man. Now Steve was a far bigger threat than before, he'd have to make sure he didn't piss Barton off if he wanted to keep his knee-caps. Not that he couldn't handle the man in the fight, but Steve couldn't be sure about who would come out on top. She turned to face him, her bright eyes accessing Steve coldly. 

“Can you do subtle Rogers?”

“I like to think so ma'm.” 

Then she gestured for him to sit down and he did so in a fluid motion, the chair uncomfortably soft when he sat down. 

“There's going to be a party tomorrow night. A lot of very important people will be there. You will be a waiter,” Natasha stated as a fact. “There is a man named Phil Coulson who will be at this party. You will poison him, but he will not die at the party. He will die that night once he is home. Do I make myself clear?”

“Coulson?” Tony interrupted with a slight frown, “what's he-”

“He's a pig,” Natasha muttered. “Bastard has been spying on us for over a year now. I want him dead. Make an example of him.”

“We approach him any other way he might get word back to his peoples. We need his flat in one piece.”

“You know where he lives?” Tony checked and Natasha scoffed in answer.

“I know where every single one of my men lives Stark. We need his flat and all of the intel he's gathered in it. Whatever info he gives us otherwise could be false, and then he'll be dead anyways. So let's just cut to the chase, shall we?” She cocked her head in almost sweet manner and looked back to Steve. “Does it all sound good to you then Rogers?”

“Shouldn't be a problem,” Steve hummed. Though underneath his calm demeanour his mind was reeling. Is this what was going to happen to him? Poison slipped into a glass and his home raided. It was all so...anti-climatic. And could he kill another colleague? He hadn't even know about Coulson but then that was Fury's approach...you couldn't know everything. It kept each of them safer. But now he was at a loss at what to do. He needed to call Fury, pronto. Killing criminals for the cause was one thing...a fellow officer was not okay. 

“Am I invited to this thing right?” Tony piped up after a moment and Romanoff rolled her eyes. 

The car ride back felt tense for some reason, Tony murmuring he'd drop Steve back home as they got in. Happy clearly oblivious as he stared asking how 'Nat' was. No one who knew who Natasha Romanoff was would dare give the woman a nickname. 

“You know...next time you want to know something, just ask yeah?” Steve said, “instead of having me followed home and using trackers.”

Stark snorted, “like you would have given me an honest answer Rogers. Come on now, we all know how this world works. You don't ask for anything.”

“I would have lied,” he conceded. “But you should ask first, out of politeness. And there was no need to be so ruddy mysterious about this either. You could have just told me straight what I was getting myself into.”

“Doesn't make a difference though, you would have said yes either way,” Tony pointed out with a shrug, now apparently amused again. Was the man ever not smirking? “And since when did people like you care about being polite? Pep was right, you are an odd one.” 

Steve sighed and just committed himself to staring out of the window for the rest of the ride. Tony Stark, for how much he was feared and renowned was also insufferably annoying and Steve wasn't how longer he could put up with it without beginning to lose touch with his sanity.

*

Tony couldn't help but find himself admiring that rather spectacular jawline as the assassin gazed out of the window, eyes calculating and unreadable as ever. Earlier that morning had been hilarious though. The flat had been surprisingly bare in Tony's opinion, the books on the bookshelf the only true hints of personality he really got aside from the fact that the man really liked his fruit. Then he hadn't noticed Tony and had started making breakfast to whatever tunes he had on his iPod, all in all it was hilarious and surprisingly cute too...for an assassin anyways. 

Stark liked to disgruntle people, see their more vulnerable sides but Rogers he just got grumpy. He'd have to work harder at that...Hammer was the first traitor of many, he had no doubt. When the bullets started flying he needed to know who he could rely on and someone with Roger's skill set would be much appreciated.

Natasha Romanoff always threw the best parties. Elegant and subtle, just like her. Music just the right volume as you stepped in, champagne just fizzy enough and everyone was dressed appropriately. Of course no one would dare dress otherwise. Happy dropped Stark off around ten, he was naturally fashionably late, flashing the men by the doors who brandished guest lists a simple smile. He walked straight past, he was Tony Stark after all. They knew exactly who he was and if wanted to talk into a place you could be sure he damn well would. He had a girl on his arm, what was her name now? Sherry? Jennifer? He had no idea, not that he cared much either. Stark found himself oddly distracted...

Tony spotted him when he was dancing, one glass too many of champagne already in his system as he danced with...Ellen maybe? Who knew. Steve Roger's had a sweet yet small smile on his face as he bent down beside an elderly lady at one of the tables, offering her a half glass which she accepted thankfully. Here Rogers looked far more comfortable than Tony's office, all laughs and smiles as he moved through the crowd providing drinks. He was a people person, huh, odd for an assassin. Tony would also have to thank whoever put waistcoats onto the waiter's dress code...

“What you looking at?” The woman he was dancing with piped up and he gave her a signature smile.

“Sorry sweetheart, thought I saw someone I knew, that's all...” He assured her and squeezed her waist. 

The night went on merrily, more and more drinks passed around. Once or twice Tony spotted Steve flitting in and out between guests. He noted Phil Coulson at one of the tables himself, trying not to stare though it was hard...now Tony knew it felt so damned obvious. The man stuck out like a sore thumb amongst them, his smile practically radiating nobleness and good will. How did it take them so long to spot it? Coulson didn't fit in there, they could all only hope the intel he'd already passed on was nothing too significant. Tony himself was always incredibly careful, him and Pepper the only people who had actually had access to anything truly incriminating and that wasn't about to change any time soon.

“Sir?” The gentle voice dragged him out of his pondering thoughts from where he was lent against a balcony, the soft evening breeze tousling through dark curls as Tony turned around. Steve held a tray that effortlessly balanced one filled champagne glass on it with one hand and offered it for him to take. 

“I've had enough for one night thanks,” he rumbled then straightened up, unceremoniously fisting a hand in Steve's shirt and tugging him close, allowing Stark to whisper in his ear, breath hot against the assassin's neck. “Is it done?” Tony smirked when he felt the over shiver a little beneath him.

Steve nodded subtly as he stepped away, “have a good evening Sir.”

“You too,” Tony half sang, now busying himself with his phone. Even eleven o'clock at night was still a working hour for people like Stark. It never really stopped, but the rewards however were plentiful. Now Natasha half offered him a favour, sort of...as much as was possible for a woman as awesome and terrifying as her, and in an odd sort of way Tony kinda offered Steve one too. But did he though? It was just work, all of it...what was the difference between one job and the next? The assassin was getting paid and probably getting kicks out of the kills. Tony knew he needn't concern himself with anything else.

*

“Everything is in place,” Fury assured him smoothly, Steve currently pacing in his living room. “He's taken the anti-venom. He'll live shield, don't you worry. Then we'll fake his death and have him go under the radar until all of this is over...”

“Okay. Okay,” Steve breathed. “Sounds good. That's...good.” Then a ringing started from the kitchen, “director, I've got to go...another call coming in, probably a client.”

“The target?”

“No,” Steve blinked down at the screen of his second phone on the counter top in mild surprise. He often got work he didn't search for himself he supposed but after associating himself with Stark things had died down a little. People were cautious of Tony it seemed, including distracting his assassins with work of their own. “Someone else. I should take it.”

“Be careful shield.”

“I always am.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and kudos! They're really encouraging, so yeah, thanks! x

He practically raised me...

For some reason those hollow words kept rattling around Steve's brain. Stark hadn't contacted him since Phil Coulson's 'death' had been exposed. Presumably he was busy clearing his name out of everything they found in the man's flat. Because of Steve's prior warning Coulson had managed to save a lot of data but was forced to leave behind some valuable evidence as to not raise suspicion. Still, it was better than nothing. And Steve was just grateful he hadn't had to kill a fellow officer. Stark never quite left Steve's thoughts though. A part of him wanted to understand, figured he needed to...if he was ever going to get in close, if he was ever going to gain his trust...it would have to be more than just your usual stand-offish assassin employee relationship. 

A few days later Steve was running a job for someone else. If Stark wasn't going to give him work he couldn't exactly complain if Steve began to branch out again. He honestly wasn't sure if the mobsterboss would but there was an odd possessive streak in him Steve couldn't help but note. Tony Stark obliviously liked to own things, like to control them.

Steve couldn't see how he'd ever be an exception to that. 

His job that night was quiet in contrast to before. He'd been paid to kill a man named Fandral, the job coming through a woman who called herself Lorelei though Steve doubted she was the client. For the first few jobs as an assassin you rarely met them face to face. Steve had to make three immaculate kills to blessed with the presence of Tony Stark himself after all. He was just heading out of his flat, all dressed in black and armed when the bookcase started to vibrate with a dull thrum. Steve walked over, pulling out the phone.

“Your job. Tonight. Where is it?” Fury's tone was immediate and cold.

“Yellow warehouse by the docks on the east side.”

“Off of Carnival street?”

“Yes director, why?”

“Screw up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get caught in the act. Don't kill anyone. You make a mistake. They capture you. Trust me on this. It's your next play.” 

Steve swallowed as Fury hung up on him, hurriedly turning off the phone like he'd forgotten to do before and tucking it back into it's rightful place inside Moby Dick. He ran a hand through his hair (a nervous habit now) as he headed out, checking that his apartment door was locked twice before he traversed down the stairs and onto the street outside. 

He had to follow orders. Steve had made a vow. Signed a bloody contract even but this felt wrong. So very wrong. What if the men just decided to kill him on the spot? He was not happy about this...but no, he had to follow Fury's orders. He had to trust in his judgement. He'd never let him down so far. 

So he did it...he made a mistake...and that left Steve tied to a ceiling an hour later, his scuffed boots just grazing the cold concrete floor below. His mind was reeling a bit from a blow to the head and he could feel the wet trickle of blood down the hollow of his neck. There were three men, Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg. All brutes and nothing more. They had a lot of goods with them, crates labelled with all sorts everywhere though Steve had no idea what was inside. He didn't need to know those sorts of things, he just needed to know where to point his gun. Getting caught up semantics only made a job more complicated. Stark never told him more than he needed to know, and he appreciated that. 

Volstagg laughed obscenely behind him and Steve grimaced. It was frustrating. He could have easily caught them off guard, taken down all three of them if he'd damned wanted to. They'd only caught him coming in through a window because he'd let them and yet they were chuckling like they'd won the lottery, apparently highly amused that Steve was so 'bad' at his job. Their arrogance all totally misplaced. He really hoped he got a chance to prove to them how wrong they damned were...

The chilly flat of a blade was dragged over his cheek, not cutting yet and Fandral grinned up at him. “Who sent you?”

Steve's eyes narrowed but couldn't move much, the rope around his wrists tied tight and though he could kick with his legs it would achieve nothing more than antagonising them all right now.

“Who sent you pretty boy?” You're one to talk, Steve thought, Fandral's appearance not dissimilar to his own aside from that ridiculous moustache.

“Come on. The quicker this is over and done with the better for all of us...” he dragged the point of the blade over his jaw line. “Just tell us who sent you after us.”

Steve then spat in Fandral's face. In hindsight that probably wasn't the wisest of decisions. 

Half an hour later and Steve was shirtless, covered in small nicks and cuts across his torso as Fandral had half-heartedly been trying to get a name out of him. Perhaps it would have been more effective on an average human being but Steve had a high pain threshold after years of this kind of work. Fandral hadn't even began to break the surface. Volstagg had laughed and encouraged him on, Hogun however just hovered in the corner of the room watching silently. It was unnerving but the man didn't look too happy with the situation, Steve thought. Then he practically jumped off of the wall as a phone on one of the crates started ringing.

Steve forgotten, Fandral rushed over to answer it, eyes going a little wide. “Wait what? He's coming, tonight? Why? To...to check goods, but our stuff is the-”

There was a quiet followed by the rumble of the voice on the other line. Steve couldn't pick up words, only the impatient tone. Sounded like a man. “Yes Thor,” Fandral sighed after a moment. “Of course.”

He hung up then turned to his other two fellows, “he's coming here. Tonight. Now I think.”

“Seriously?” Volstagg's voice was a little high pitched, fear reflecting in the features of the big beast of a man, fat fingers flexing by his sides nervously. 

“Makes sense,” Hogun hummed, speaking up for the first time since Steve had arrived. His features set, mouth pressed into a thin line.

The three men were suddenly tense, “we can deal with him later,” Volstagg said, gesturing to Steve. 

“Or you could just let me-” Steve began.

“No fucking chance mate,” Fandral hissed, shutting him down. Then all three men jumped as a door slammed shut the other side of the warehouse. A figure slitted in between the crates in the background as they made their way towards the small side room Steve was currently strung up in. Fandral stepped outside and Steve heard an exchange of voices.

“Sorry Sir, there's been a...an assassin just tried to kill us a few hours ago. Disrupted things a little but the shipment will be ready all time.”

An unconvinced grunt followed. 

“We're just trying to find out who sent him.”

“Let me help you with that...then I try the goods. Want to make sure they're as good as you say they are, you must understand.”

Stark. It was bloody Stark. This was Fury's play? Was he serious? What would this achieve other than Steve looking like a damned fool? This was a terrible, terrible idea which would probably result in Steve's death or worse. 

Tony practically pushed himself past Fandral into the room and then his eyes landed on Steve's dangling, shirtless form and he grinned, letting out a soft chuckle as he shook his head. Steve glared at him which only made him grin more.

“Oh Stevie,” he chimed and the other three men in the room blinked. “What am I going to do with you?” He turned to Fandral and waved a hand, “out. All of you.”

“But he tried to ki-” Fandral tried to protest but Tony wasn't having it. 

“Out.”

The three men trailed out of the door with their tails between their legs in wordless obedience. It was frightening, how much power Tony had with a wave of a hand despite the fact that the man had seemingly just walked in here alone, unarmed. “Thor's a good friend Steve, you really shouldn't be pissing off my friends now.”

“Why? Are they my friends too?” Steve breathed, meeting the man's gaze evenly. For once Tony finally looked serious, all the humour gone from his eyes leaving something dark in is wake.

“I don't think you understand how this works...” he shook his head again and stepped up to Steve, having to lean up a little to meet his gaze considering Steve was strung up. Despite that though Stark was obviously in complete and utter control of the situation, gaze not leaving Steve's as he reached out to grab the knife off of the table. 

Steve's breath hitched a little.

“I always get what I want. Tony Stark always gets what he wants. Everyone knows that. I want you to leave Thor alone, you leave Thor alone. It's really that simple. I don't give a damned shit how much someone is paying you,” Tony murmured, tone deadly. “You're useful Steve, very useful but if you start to become more trouble than you're worth then we have a problem.”

Steve was quiet for a moment before finally speaking up. “Lorelei, her name is Lorelei.”

Tony patted his cheek, slipping back into his usual self. “Good boy. Now that wasn't so hard was it? Everything is much simpler when I get what I want.”

Steve's eyes flickered over Tony and he dared to lean forward, head tilted as his hot breath tickled against Stark's cheek. “And what is it that you want exactly? Seen as apparently you'll be getting it anyway.” 

Tony chuckled and it was a low, rumbling sound that bubbled up from the back of his throat. Steve felt fingertips graze over his abdomen briefly across sweaty, bloodied skin and Stark stood back, supposedly admiring him for a moment before he reached up with his knife. Steve huffed in relief as the rope was cut and he landed on feet, wobbling a moment before he regained his balance. His arms ached as he brought them back down, rubbing at his wrists which were raw from the old rope they'd used. “You didn't answer my question.”

Tony shrugged, cocking his head as he completely unashamedly now dragged his gaze up and down Steve's form. “You already know the answer,” he replied coolly, something unknown to Steve dancing beyond those dark, hazel eyes. “Now get dressed.”

The three men weren't too impressed when Tony walked out with Steve in tow, just his jacket on (his shirt left in tatters). He didn't bother to zip it up as he reached down, grabbing his bag which had been tossed into a corner back onto his shoulder. Fandral raised a brow, “Mr Stark...?”

“Everything's fine, isn't it Steve? Come on, show me what you got boys,” Tony gestured to one of the crates, with his usual lazy smile. Steve said nothing, finding himself mildly amused at how frustrated the men all were at him walking around. They'd probably expected Tony to kill him, or leave him for them to deal with later but now he was going to walk out of there alongside Mr Stark and there was nothing they could do about it. Steve had been annoyed at Fury before when he'd been strung up, a knife sinking in and out of his flesh but right now...this felt pretty awesome. 

Hogun wordlessly opened a box and Steve had to keep himself in check as he saw about fifty bags of white powder inside. He didn't need someone to tell him what that was. And there was hundreds of crates of this stuff...Jesus Christ. So this was Thor's territory then, he dealt drugs but how did Tony fit in? Was he an investor or something more? Investors didn't usually turn up to do a quality check...

Tony used the same knife he'd just used to cut the rope to dig into one of the bags casually, kneeling down as he tried a fingertip's worth of the stuff on his tongue. Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg watched him with bated breath. “It'll...do,” Tony said finally as he straightened up. “But the quality, it can't stay like this boys. Shoddy product leads to shoddy work. This only just makes the line.”

“Of course Sir. We'll let Thor know.”

“See that you do,” Tony said then gestured to Steve with the incline of two fingers again. It made him feel a bit like a dog as he moved forward, following on at the silent command. “Have a good night boys.”

Fandral glowered at Steve as he walked out but said nothing, letting them go without a word. He made to step forward just as the door slipped shut but Hogun stepped up then, holding him back calmly with a single hand on his chest and an imploring look in his eyes. 

“Want a lift?” Tony offered, the night air pleasantly cool as they stepped out into it.

“Sure,” Steve hummed, pausing in tracks as Tony stood in front of him. The mobsterboss zipped up his jacket, perhaps slower than required. “Don't want Happy to see the blood,” he explained and Steve nodded subtly in understanding as the other brought up his fingers, wetting them with his tongue then dragging them across Steve's collar bone to wipe off the few drops of red that had found their way there. 

“'Course Mr Stark,” Steve said, saying the other's name purposefully, tone almost teasing. Tony raised a brow and spoke again as Happy pulled up outside, the soft swish of the sea echoing in the background from the docks. The air smelt salty too, the screeching mutters of birds and traffic in the distance filtering into their conversation, a chorus for Tony's next words.

“Every job you get you pass by me first, you understand Rogers?”

“I understand,” he affirmed seriously, feeling almost like a scolded child all of a sudden as he stared down at his feet. “It won't happen again.”

Tony smiled at that and stepped back, “good.”

Happy was just opening the car door for them, a innocent brightness gleaming in his eyes. He must have some inkling, Steve thought but it was probably easier for him this way. A lot of people (Steve included) found ignoring reality easier than accepting it. Steve couldn't let his mind wonder to his work too much else he would never be able to sleep.

“When will I get my next name?” Steve whispered before Tony turned to get into the car.

“That eager are you?” Tony smirked as they got in, Happy closing the door behind them.

Steve rolled his eyes at that. 

“I like to be kept busy,” Steve said simply.

“Patience is a virtue, no one ever tell you that Rogers?” Tony hummed, already checking his phone but still apparently engaged in their conversation. 

Steve sighed, the rough fabric of his jacket rubbing annoying against the small cuts Fandral had left across his skin. They would heal quickly, but they were still irritating. The back of his had throbbed a little but he was sure it was nothing serious.

“You'll get it in the next few days,” Tony assured him. “It's going to be harder than the rest.” He lent in close so Happy wouldn't hear, “ex-military. Bigger than you. But I need him alive at first,” Tony's mouth was pressed up against his ear, fingers curled around the nape of Steve's neck to hold him there. Steve couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine at the touch. “It's gonna be a hard fight.”

Steve turned his head to face the other's, noses almost nudging together as their breath mingled briefly. “I can handle it,” he murmured.

Tony's eyes glinted and he pulled back, “just what I like to hear Rogers.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments guys, they're really great. x

Ivan Vanko was a beast of a man. He'd done some good work for Tony in the past, terrible shame that he'd been planning to work with Stane in the shoddily planned coup they were intending. But still, business was business. And Tony Stark, of all people, would not abide betrayal. 

To his credit Vanko he had good taste, though perhaps a little dated. Wood panelling, wispy thin curtains and pale white ceilings. His home felt light, airy. The piano in the corner (apparently Vanko liked to pay to 'wind down', Tony remembered him mentioning it once) appeared to be vintage. So it was a terrible shame when Steve slammed the man into it, wood creaking and cracking under the strain of both their weights. Tony was sat on one of the plush leather sofas, lazily sprawled out like a cat with a tumbler in his hand. That was another thing Ivan Vanko had good taste regarding, whiskey. 

Tony Stark had always been a fan of beautiful things. And this...watching Steve like this, was beautiful. Ivan had the strength, the animalistic instincts of attack but Steve was quicker, more agile, his body bending and flexing in ways the other just couldn't match. Steve slunk out of each blow and lunge with relative ease. Least Ivan hadn't tried to protest like Stane, he wasn't in denial. He knew Tony's mind wouldn't be changed, right now Vanko was fighting for his life.

And he was losing.

The man grunted as his head cracked into the wood of the piano and Steve stepped back, wiping the blood from his chin where Ivan had gotten a hit in, splitting his lip. Steve waited for Vanko to stumble back onto his feet, letting out a gruff growl as he cradled his head. He grabbed at Steve but the assassin stepped out of the way effortlessly. Steve glanced over at Tony and he met his gaze. Tony smirked as he took a sip of Ivan's whiskey, eyes on Steve the whole time. There was something electric in that look, a need and a want that was tangible. Tony knew right now, after all this, after they were done with Ivan and his body was left lifeless on the floor...that Steve would let him take what he wanted. And that thought alone was invigorating. 

Steve jumped up, the heel of his boot cracking into Ivan's jaw in a swinging kick as the man was still left dazed. He roared and tumbled, just managing to regain his footing before his head smacked into the floor underneath. He'd wasted all his energies too soon and now his head was dazed and body tired. Tony had no doubt that Steve would win, but so damn easily too...the assassin always impressed. Aside from that screw up and Thor's boys. But Tony supposed everyone had their bad days...

In a last stand Ivan charged at Steve with a bestial cry. Much to Tony's surprise the assassin let it happen, but before he could be squished into the countertop behind him Steve moved swiftly, twisting his legs around Ivan and using the momentum of the charge to drag he man down to the ground. Ivan landed with a groan, Steve on top of him. The assassin grabbed a fist full of black hair and slammed his head into the ground. Once. Twice. He was out cold.

Steve didn't waste anytime in tying the man up. The knots looked complex and well practised. Ivan wouldn't be moving from that metal chair any time soon. Another convenient thing about Ivan Vanko's good taste, the man owned sturdy dining chairs. 

Steve looked over to Tony when it was done and the mobsterboss inclined two fingers. The assassin stepped over instantly, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he stood before the other. Tony straightened up and emptied his tumbler, dropping it carelessly as he stood. 

“Satisfied Mr Stark?” Steve breathed, and the playful manner in which he tilted his head just wasn't damn fair in Tony's opinion.

“Not quite yet Rogers,” he breathed, trailing fingertips up Steve's leg. To the assassin's credit he didn't flinch at the unexpected touch and in fact seemed rather excited by it. Tony noted Steve's pupils dilating a little and he curled a hand around the back of his thigh, tugging him closer gently and Steve moved easily into the touch. He fingers began to move higher and then-

Ivan groaned in the background effectively killing the moment. Tony sighed and patted his arm, stepping away. “Duty calls Rogers.”

Steve nodded, exhaling slowly as he reached down to pull his usual knife from his inside jacket pocket. “How long Mr Stark?”

Tony was quiet for a while, empty hazel eyes flitting over Ivan's mumbling form that was currently struggling against his bonds in the chair. 

“Three again. I want the names in one.”

“Sure thing Mr Stark. Whatever you want...”

*

Ivan was different to the others. The man knew pain, knew endurance. To get a reaction even Steve had to sink the knife in deeper and further. He could feel bits of himself slipping away too, with each slide of the blade he was getting dragged into that red haze. Where there was nothing but him, the knife and Ivan shuddering beneath him. It was oddly freeing. Made him feel oddly...powerful, especially considering that Steve had had to beat the man into the ground to get them where they were.

Is this what Steve was now? Did he enjoy the violence? 

He would never admit to himself. Steve did enjoy however the look Tony would give him from across the room as he watched, phone in one hand as he lazily sorted through messages. It made Steve want to be better, want make Ivan scream louder...he should feel sick. He should feel wrong. He should be worrying about how he was going to sleep at night. But Steve wasn't...right now in this moment he just wanted to impress Tony Stark. He could understand how the man was so successful and powerful better now, he was addictive. The praise. The charming smiles. The influential tone and air about him that demanded obedience. Sometimes his presence was so consuming it was easy for Steve to forget why he was there, why he was sat knelt on Ivans floor with a knife edge under Ivan's toenail...sometimes it felt like he really was just an assassin who wanted Tony Stark to grow fond of him. 

But then he forced himself to remember why he was there. Steve couldn't forget. He had a duty. And he would complete it at all costs. 

Three hours up. Stark had gotten his required names in the first. A knife in Ivan's neck and he stood as he retrieved his weapon, wiping the flat of the blade against Ivan's trousers to clean it before he tucked it back into his jacket. He stared down at the corpse with glazed over eyes, breathing steadily evening out. 

“Rogers?” A hand curled onto his shoulder that Steve was dully aware of, “you did good.” Tony praised, tone sounding surprisingly genuine. “I'll drop by another 50,000 at your flat soon.” Hot breath ghosted against his cheek and Steve turned to face it.

Was it so bad that Steve wanted to...? 

He wanted Tony Stark. A man who he knew was a murderer and a thief and was currently paying him to torture people...that was one of Fury's rules. You don't let your own feelings get involved in the mix. Which to Steve meant no sleeping around at all, Fury knew he was too soft when it came to anything involving a hint of sex or romance...but Fury didn't have to know, did he?

Tony's fingertips grazed against Steve's cheek before cupping it, tugging the assassin closer. Steve could do this, after all...it would get him closer to Stark wouldn't it? Tactically it made complete sense, complete sense...the mobsterboss dragged him into a heated kiss, lips moving together without a hint of gentleness. Steve's hands instinctively moved to grip Tony's jacket lapels, as Tony himself ran his fingers into Steve's hair. At the press of tongue Steve's lips parted in an instant, Tony's tongue moving into Steve's mouth and sliding against his own. The assassin unintentionally let out a quiet moan. Tony smirked against his mouth as he pulled away, nipping at his bottom lip.

Steve's cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, his hair a little ruffled, though Tony smoothed it down before stepping back. The kiss having dragged the assassin right back into reality. Soon the mobsterboss was moving away and Steve stared back down at Ivan. The contrast of the corpse and the moment just before made him want to wretch. He ran a hand over his face before turning back to face the other. He needed to calm his breathing down, jesus, what was he doing... “Clean up,” Tony told him simply, though there was a gleam in his eyes, the hint of a mischievous smile on his lips.

“And then Mr Stark?” Steve raised a brow expectantly. 

Tony laughed and it was a warm sound. “I have places to be. Happy's outside,” he waved a hand and Steve almost felt disappointed. “I'll be in touch soon.” 

Steve nodded and watched the man leave before turning back to the horror scene he'd just created. He sighed to himself and swallowed.

Time to clean up...

Steve had a nightmare that night. He didn't even know who he was hurting but he was hurting someone, knife in hand and hands slick with blood. Maybe it was Stane or Hammer...it didn't matter. It was the act itself that did. He lost himself in it, mind clouded with the usual red haze as he worked and moved, aware of little else...then, when it was over and the victim shuddered into the next life beneath him, he looked up.

Fury was there, towering over him, eye wide with something akin to fear. “This isn't you Steve,” his smooth voice rumbled through the dream. “This isn't...” Steve had stopped listening, eyes drifting away to Tony coming up behind him. He had a knife in his hand, Steve's own knife from his jacket...Tony lifted up the blade. Steve knew he should shout out. Say something. Save Fury but he...

Steve said nothing and watched Tony drive the blade into Fury's back, expression manic.

He woke up in a tangle of sweaty sheets and with a gasp, hair plastered to his forehead. Steve ran a trembling hand through his hair to drag it out of his eyes before he sat up with trembling breath and a swallow. He forced himself out of bed and into the shower, the lukewarm water serving to wake him up before he went into the kitchen to make himself some brunch. A fry up would do. Maybe he'd go to the gym later, he needed to clear his head and he was sure it'd be another few days until he heard from Stark again.

Steve could still remembered the drag of the other's lips against his own, Tony's fingers running through his hair. He shook his head to himself and focused on the simple action of cooking. He'd enjoyed that kiss far more than he should have done. It was just for work, he told himself, just a play on Stark...

He called Fury after he'd eaten. 

“I'm glad it worked out well with the lot at the warehouse. It's good to know you've been adopted as one of his favourites,” Fury said. “Or at least it seems that way.” Steve wondered how many 'favourites' Tony had...was he one of many? What he did do all the time when he wasn't with Steve? Though he probably didn't want to know the answer to that. Still, an odd pang of jealously rattled in Steve's chest and he swallowed uneasily. 

“Yeah,” he replied lamely. “Seems that way. They looked pretty peeved too when I just walked out with him.”

“I'll bet,” Fury hummed, sounding bemused. 

“He says he has two jobs for me left. At least at the moment. I should be getting the next soon.”

“Good, that's...” Fury began but Steve had stopped listening, his gaze dragging over to his other mobile buzzing on the work surface of his kitchen. Tony's name popping up on the screen. He dragged his fingertips over the touchscreen to read the message.

Expect me. TS

When? Now? In one hundred years time? SR Steve replied easily with one hand as Fury sighed, slightly exasperated. 

I'll arrive when I want to Rogers. TS The reply was almost instant. 

“Are you even listening shield?”

You have another job for me? SR

“Sorry director...”

His phone buzzed again. 

No. Not quite. TS

“Sorry director. I've got to go” Steve breathed then hurriedly hung up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the lovely comments. x

Tony kept Steve waiting. The bastard. Steve was tense for days, jumping a little every time there was a knock on the door or a loud noise outside. It was ridiculous but Steve was paranoid, like Tony had said the first time they met and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He was still waiting for his fourth name and a horrid part of him wanted the work. Steve liked to be kept busy, kept distracted. Every morning he found himself staring at the mirror inside of his wardrobe, eyes flitting over the photographs littering the glass before he eyes settled on himself with a grimace in disgust. Tony Stark had kissed him, and he'd like it. He spent most days at the gym, burning away the frustration and tension that made him tense every morning and every night.

He had a dream about Tony one night. Filthy and blurred and he woke up hard. Steve stood under a cold spray of water in the shower for a solid ten minutes, reciting protocols until his arousal ebbed away. Steve could play Tony yes, but he would not indulge himself. He had to have at least a chance at controlling his emotions around the mobsterboss. He had to stay in control. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. 

Over a week passed and then one morning Steve groggily awoke late to movement in his bedroom. The assassin's eyes fluttered open and he sat up instantly, mind spinning a little as he'd gotten up too quickly. He groaned and rubbed at his temple.

“...so weird.”

It was Tony's voice. He was stood in the corner of his room, wardrobe door open. Steve's eyes widened a little.

“What kind of assassin are you Steve?”

Tony turned to face him, dressed in a grey striped suit today, facial hair immaculate as ever. He gestured to all the faces, over a hundred of them now and shrugged. “This your record?”

“Coping mechanism,” Steve breathed, figuring honesty would earn him more than dishonesty in this scenario. He wanted to gain Tony's trust, this was probably the best way to do it. “Did you want something Mr Stark?” He yawned and pushed his bed hair off of his forehead. “Thought you'd forgotten about me...”

Tony still watched him with a pensive expression, trying to figure him out no doubt. Steve held his gaze evenly and eventually Tony smirked. “You really are an odd one, but I suppose if this means you sleep peacefully at night,” he shrugged and nudged the wardrobe door shut with his elbow gracefully. “Makes sense.” If only it worked that well, Steve thought. Since Hammer, Stane and Vanko he'd had some terrible dreams...a good nights sleep was a treasured rarity at the moment. 

“What do you want?” Steve repeated, tone serious with no implication of a sexual nature. If Tony wanted something like that he wouldn't have come round at almost midday surely. 

“I've had a tricky week. Thanos, you know him?” Steve nodded subtly and Tony continued, “he's back in town. Having a few...issues.”

Steve frowned a little.

“Anyhow, nothing to worry your little head about. You just do what you do best,” Tony shook his head with a faint smile. He walked over and ruffled Steve's hair, receiving a glare in return. He chuckled and held out another envelope to him, “payment's on the dining table. This one isn't due for five days time.”

Steve took the envelope, “you say I talk to you funny. Yet you treat me, a trained killer, like a dog.” 

Tony said nothing at that.

“Are you going to be there again?” Steve breathed setting the envelope on the bedside table without opening it yet. 

“Problem?” Tony raised a brow as he lingered in the doorway.

Steve's eyes flickered up to meet his. 

“Not in the slightest,” and Steve wasn't even lying. Some sick part of him had begun to thrive under the audience. “I thought you said...it wasn't about a job? When you said to expect you.”

Tony lingered still, eyes flitting over Steve's bare chest then back up to his face. “Dressed. Ten minutes.”

Steve sighed and pushed himself up, tottering over to his wardrobe. He dressed automatically in his usual get up, ignoring Tony's obvious gaze dragging over him as black fabric was stretched over pale skin. “What is it this time?” He asked, “going to see your friends again?”

“Oh no, much more exciting,” Tony assured him, eyes glinting when Steve turned back round to face him. “We're going to visit an enemy. I just said Thanos was in town, are you not listening Stevie?”

Steve blinked, “why am I coming with you to meet Thanos?”

“Because I saw you beat up a guy almost twice your size the other day,” Ton said obviously then patted his arm as Steve walked up to him. “Besides,” he flashed a usual smile. “You look pretty. Makes me look good,” he squeezed and tugged Steve closer. “I can count on you, can't I Rogers?” He murmured. This was just another test. Steve had to play bodyguard for the day. He could manage that. 

A smile ghosted onto Steve's lips, eyes bright with something. “You already know the answer to that question Mr Stark,” he replied playfully then he tilted his head. “Why are you going to meet Thanos?”

“Because he invited me. And even I, the great Tony Stark, cannot say no,” he sighed dramatically. “I've cost him a lot of money in the past few years. We competed a bit. So it's going to be awkward.”

It was so weird, practically having a casual conversation with Tony Stark considering how much power he really had over Steve in this situation. He wondered if Stark came into his flat armed or completely unguarded...no, that would be impossible. He was sure security were just outside considering Steve's line of work. Almost definitely...

Happy was...well Happy when they got into the car, grinning from ear to ear. “Where to Tony?”

“Four seasons,” Tony replied, for once not getting out his phone as he slumped down in the car seat. Was he...nervous? He didn't look it so much, he more just looked tense though Steve didn't dare mention it nor try to comfort him.

“Very fancy,” Happy chimed as he started up the car and began to drive. “I've heard the restaurant does amazing calamari. And that it's very romantic.”

Steve half choked and Tony gave him a warning look. The assassin was grinning from ear as he was trying desperately not to laugh, Happy thought that...that they were...this was priceless, absolutely priceless. And they really on their way to see Thanos, one of the most terrifying men in the state, who had more power than Tony did technically...though in this city, Tony Stark's word was still final. If only just.

Steve had done a little research on him when he'd been looking at Stark. Thanos was a serious investor, made his own money in very dodgy circles...drugs, weaponry, human trafficking; the whole bloody lot. And he'd never paid for any of it, the law failing to catch up with him. He was as famous as Tony, feared even more and known for being beyond ruthless to the point where he was cruel. Tony looked tense and Steve felt it too. He was nervous as hell inside, mind reeling. He only had a knife on him again, was that a mistake? He didn't know. He just hoped he wasn't really going to have to fight. Thanos's security team would be hell. 

“Steve?”

“Was is it, honey?” Steve replied and had to repress a snigger when Tony glared at him. This was too good. Steve's life was a grim one, he had to find and savour humour where he could and this was absolutely hilarious. Maybe teasing Tony Stark the infamous mobsterboss wasn't the best of ideas...but what did Steve really stand to lose at this point? 

Tony inclined those two fingers of his and Steve lent in so he could whisper in his ear, fingers lightly curling round his neck. Was he going to kiss him again? Steve wondered then mentally scolded himself for having such damn lame thoughts. It didn't bloody matter. Right now Tony was obviously in business mode and there was no time for any of that stuff. Steve needed to control himself better, he couldn't have his mind wondering like that...

“I don't think I need to tell how serious this is Steve,” Tony murmured. Steve could hear it in his voice, how tense he was, his words sharp and clipped. His grip tightened a little on his neck to the point where it was almost painful. “It'll make more sense on your 4th job.” Ah yes, the envelope Steve had left beside his bed for later. The target for five days time. “But for now...I need you on alert. High alert. If he doesn't at least try to kill me once I'll be surprised.”

Steve swallowed and nodded. Where were the rest of Tony's security team? Was he the only thing between a bullet and Tony Stark's brain? “Then why the hell are you walking into this?” He hissed. 

“If I don't show up now that gives Thanos permission to walk over me,” Tony breathed and tugged Steve to face him. “And I will not abide that. Besides Tony Stark doesn't run away from things. I'm gonna look that fucker in the eye and then I'm gonna walk right back out of there.” His fingers grazed over Steve's face and then he pulled away, expression somewhat mollified. 

Steve was what...his last resort? How much trauma was the Stark empire under? Steve almost, almost felt sorry for him. But then he reminded himself the man before him deserved no sympathy, he'd made countless others endure pain and stress far worse than this Steve had no doubt. That empty look in those hazel eyes though...was that the real Stark? Was all the charm and confidence just a facade? These were questions Steve certainly didn't the answers to but he found himself curious all the same. 

The hotel was gorgeous and Steve immediately felt under dressed as they stepped in. Tony seemed to note his concern and curled a hand around his elbow, squeezing lightly. “Don't worry, people as pretty as you can get away with under dressing.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head as they walked through the lobby, stepping into one of the lifts. “I'm not quite sure it works like that,” he said as the lift doors slid shut. They moved back as more people stepped into the lift on another floor, Tony having reached forward to press the button up to the penthouse suite, naturally. Steve stepped closer to Tony as well, just to be safe. 

Then that hand curled around the back of Steve's thigh again, but this time it moved higher, Tony's hand cupping his ass. Steve exhaled softly and kept his hands behind his back, he glanced sideways at the mobsterboss and raised a brow.

“Problem Rogers?” 

“Not in the slightest Mr Stark,” Steve breathed in a cool reply.

They stepped out of the lift and Steve was almost sad for it. A long, creamy, marble corridor was stretched out before the, three armed guards lining it. They watched Tony and Steve walk down but said nothing. Steve counted one gun at the hip as they moved on through to the main room. Tony looked calmer, an easy smile on his lips as they stepped in.

“Ah, Stark, so glad you could make it,” a Southern accent drawled. Right now all they could see was a back of a head, the man was lent on the sofa, arms stretched out over the back. He had a fine dusting of dark hairs over his scalp but he was obviously balding. Thanos sipped at his drink then slowly stood, setting his glass down before he turned to face them. The man was tall, taller than Steve and had small piercing eyes that seemed to glare into them both. 

Steve stood soldier-straight, hands still behind his back as Tony moved forward. He glanced around, were there no guards in here? Not that he could see anyways. 

“How long you back in town for?” Tony asked with his usual charm, a light shrug easing the tension of the question. 

Thanos glanced over at Steve for a moment, smirking before he turned back to Tony. Thanos had a presence Steve doubted anyone could match. The greasy smile and elegant shift of his looming body was disturbingly mesmerising. “Just a few weeks,” he breathed. “I just wanted to check that your people won't give me any trouble Stark.”

“'Course not,” Tony hummed, reaching for Thanos's drink and taking a sip himself. He made an approving sound at the taste before he set it back down. “Unless you give them reason to.”

“I don't intend to,” Thanos assured him, expression set and Tony smiled. 

“Well if that's all then...” Tony shrugged again. Steve didn't like this. It felt too clean cut, too simple. Thanos wouldn't have called Tony up here for a five second conversation which was about as ambiguous as their criminal records. 

“Got places to be Stark?”

“People to do,” Tony replied and Thanos laughed dryly.

He glanced back to Steve, eyes bright with a grim sort of amusement. “I can see that.”

Steve just glowered in return and felt Tony patted his arm, “come on Stevie.” His voice dropped to a murmur, “let's just leave.”

“I'll be seeing you soon, no doubt,” Thanos waved off as they walked out, back out into the corridor, with the three armed guards...

Steve saw one of them reaching for their gun and didn't hesitate, drawing out his blade with dexterous fingers and sending Tony a pointed look. It all happened very quickly. Steve threw his knife, catching the second guard in his neck before he slammed the first guard into the wall, hands squeezing around his throat, the guard's eyes wide with surprise. Steve bent his fingers back and managed to grab the gun in seconds, lifting it up and firing once. Twice. The third guard dropped down with bullet holes in his chest and then he turned, elbowing the first in the face for good measure before he slipped down to the ground with a groan. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Steve let out a ragged breath and turned back to Tony. 

They hurriedly made their way back to the elevator when one of the guard's radios went off. Steve grabbed his knife, tucking it into the jacket alongside the stolen gun before he picked up the radio too.

“Evans?” It was Thanos's scratchy voice. “Is Stark-”

“Not quite,” Steve cut in as they stepped into the lift. He spotted men appearing at the end of the corridor from Thanos's room and nodded to Tony who quickly pressed the button to take them back down. “Your guards are sloppy,” he told him then dropped the radio, crushing it under the heel of his boot.

Tony was looking at him with that look again. The same way he'd looked at Steve when he was fighting Ivan Vanko. Want gleaming in those dark, brown eyes. Just like the fight it happened in an instant. Tony pushed him against the elevator wall and their mouths found each other in a filthy, heated kiss as the mobsterboss's hands tangled in Steve's hair to angle his head back just the way Tony wanted it. Steve was thrumming with adrenaline and he imagined the other was too. He'd just killed at least two men for Tony, he didn't even...he didn't get their faces. 

He didn't get their faces.

Steve had just killed people and he could never...could never remember them... but right now did he even care? He was too caught up in the kiss to ponder it. Eventually Tony pulled back but not far, breaths mingling and eyes dancing over each other's faces. He traced his fingertips over Steve's jawline making him shiver. 

“CCTV...” Steve began but Tony shushed him.

“Believe it or not Thanos won't want this getting out. They'll trace it straight back to him. You're good.”

Then an old woman stepped into the lift with her supposed toy boy and Tony stepped back a decent distance though his eyes were still a little glazed over. 

“That was kinda close, wasn't it?” Tony whispered after a moment, voice so soft only Steve could hear it. 

“I guess so,” Steve swallowed in realisation. “I'm good with kinda close.”

“I think it's about time I find out what else you're good at,” Tony breathed lowly as they stepped back out of the lift. Steve glanced around, still paranoid but they were in a crowded place right now, he had little reason to be.

They slipped into Happy's car a little hurriedly still, though Tony looked more smug if anything else right now. 

“Am I dropping Steve off home Tony?” He asked as he stared up the car and Tony glanced sideways at his assassin.

“No,” Stark replied slowly. “No, take us straight back to mine.”

Steve met his gaze, the gun he'd taken from the guard and used to shoot his fellow weighing heavy in his jacket pocket like something akin to guilt. 

Tony reached out, the backs of his fingers gracing across Steve's cheek. “You're mine Rogers, you know that, don't you?”

A chill ran up Steve's spine and he couldn't work out whether it was a good or a bad sensation. An easy, well practised smile curved onto his lips and he replied softly, “'Course Mr Stark.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you for all the comments! Hope you all continue to enjoy. x

Stark's home was in the centre of the city. Some lavish tower, all steel and glass. Steve wondered if the other owned all of it but realised he didn't much care as they tumbled into the tower's elevator, hands and mouths on each other. Tony broke away as Steve's back met an elevator wall, somewhat breathlessly uttering. “Jarvis, penthouse,” before slanting their mouths together again, hand on Steve's cheek and jaw to guide it just right.

Steve wasn't especially surprised when a clipped British accent replied. “Right away Sir.”

An AI. Of course Tony Stark had a bloody AI. The lift whirred into action but Steve barely noticed, aware of little else other than Tony's mouth on his own, his hand on his jaw and the other one which had dragged down lower to cup his ass again. Steve let out a soft moan when Tony squeezed and the mobsterboss smirked into the kiss as the lift pinged to announce it's arrival. “Can't wait to see what's underneath those ridiculously tight jeans of yours,” Tony murmured against his neck as he pushed Steve backwards and out of the elevator.

Steve was no stranger to intimacy, though quite sadly he couldn't really remember the last time he'd done this sort of thing purely because he'd wanted to. Work, especially that of a murderous kind was often made easier and simpler with the guise of seduction, Steve found. Not that this was...this was work. He was going to sleep with Tony Stark for his work. And if he happened to enjoy it in the process, well then, that was just a coincidence. 

“They're not that tight,” Steve insisted as Stark slipped cool fingers under his top, moving him backwards until his back was pressed up against a countertop, his fingertips splaying over the muscled abdomen underneath as Tony dragged his teeth along Steve's jaw, drawing out a shudder. Tony laughed softly in response and it tickled against Steve's skin. 

“Oh please. Like you don't know what you're doing,” Tony breathed. “What you do to me. You're maddening,” he lent forward and kissed him again, though this time slower than before, their lips sliding together languidly. Steve's mind was spinning. Focus. He had to focus...oh no. Tony's hand was slipping lower, towards his belt buckle. The mobsterboss pressed forward and Steve felt his arousal press up against his thigh, those hazel eyes dark with lust. It made him feel almost powerful in a way, to know he had that effect on the most feared man in the city. Steve's own breath hitching-

A throat cleared to their left. 

The voice was a soft one as it rumbled through the room, the accent refined. 

“Sorry Tony, am I interrupting something?” Thor raised a brow from where he was lent in the doorway of the living room, amusement laced into his tone.

Tony reluctantly broke away, exhaling softly as control shifted back into his stance, an effortlessly charming smile curling onto his lips. “Odinson,” he greeted, smoothing down the lapel of Steve's jacket as he pulled away. Steve glanced sideways to inspect the other, golden skin and sandy hair, his bright blue eyes piercing as they flitted between Steve and Tony. “To what do I owe your most atrociously timed interruption? Is it the last batch of goods you sent?” Despite the nature of his words there was no bite to them, and the almost soft look in Tony's eyes suggested a friendship of sorts, Steve thought. Or, at the least, a fondness. 

“Jarvis, next time I have guests do inform me please,” Tony said as he walked over, shaking Thor's hand when it was offered. Steve pushed off of the countertop, feeling appropriately awkward considering the situation. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm it. 

“Of course Sir, my sincerest apologies,” Jarvis replied, from where Steve had no idea. He also wasn't sure how an AI managed to sound sarcastic but he supposed there was a first time for everything. 

Thor gave Tony a serious look as they pulled their hands away, “Thanos brings me here.” He said simply and Tony hummed in understanding.

“Of course, what else?” Tony sighed to himself just as a woman came into view from behind Thor. She wasn't dressed dissimilarity Steve and had her raven hair tied up into a tight bun, her posture perfectly straight and expression fierce as she stepped into the room. Steve couldn't see any weapons on show but he had no doubt she was well armed. 

“And Sif, still radiant as ever I see,” Tony greeted and tried for a smile but Sif didn't return it, expression cold and set.

“Ever since Thanos has been in town Sif has been rather tense,” Thor patted her shoulder, though not in a patronising manner, rather a comforting one if anything. There was a hint of a smile on her lips though she didn't seem to relax. Thor finally looked at Steve properly. 

“You're the one who tried to kill Fandral.” 

“It was just business,” Steve replied curtly and Tony let out an almost nervous laugh. Steve was currently still aroused and frustrated. The last thing he wanted to remember was the humiliation of having to be caught and Tony walking in on him strung up like a fool. 

“It won't happen again,” Tony assured Thor and gestured to the living room, “go sit down. I'll bring drinks. Then we can discuss our little 'problem'.” 

Thor's steely gaze lingered on Steve for a moment and the assassin held it before the man finally turned away, heading back into the living room with Sif in tow. He looked angry, something simmering beyond those stormy eyes but now everyone obviously had bigger problems on their minds. Steve supposed in a way that made Thanos's presence in this city a blessing, it distracted them from the other equally serious threat that Steve posed. Exposure. The Law. Jail. Now Coulson was 'dead' everyone was seemingly lulled into a false sense of security. It was the perfect environment for Steve to thrive in.

Tony turned back to him, expression unreadable, even to Steve. Cogs turned behind the mobsterboss's eyes as he thought then finally, after a short exhale of breath, he nodded and gestured with his head. “I guess you better hear this too.”

Thor looked like he was about to protest when Steve walked in after Tony, but was soon hushed by Stark's words.

“He just saved my life today, against Thanos's men. You can trust him,” Tony promised then went to a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. He only poured two glasses. Steve's eyes flickered over to Sif's. He knew she was like him, her back a little too straight and hands flexing by her sides where she stood. She was on guard. No drinking for either of them. 

Tony pressed a tumbler into Thor's hand gently before going to take a seat opposite the man. Steve settled on standing by the huge window that spanned the expanse of the wall, glancing outside absent-mindedly, the people like scuttling mice in the streets below. The gentle echo of traffic faded and weak so high up despite the abundance of teeming life right beneath them. 

“Loki is working with Thanos,” Thor said reluctantly before taking a generous sip from his glass. The man looked like he could handle his drink but Steve couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in his hand as he brought the glass to his lips, the words clearly paining him. Steve recalled from research that Loki was Thor's younger brother, estranged and a little rebellious but working with Thanos...that was surprising. That was beyond rebellious. 

Tony seemed to agree as his brows rose. He sipped from his own drink.

“He's the one who paid your assassin here to kill my friend,” Thor said. “The only person Lorelei would ever work for is Loki. They're both under Thanos's thumb, and I have no doubt the bastard plans to take everything back for himself. And with Loki's help they just might manage it.” 

Tony was quiet for a moment, expression pondering. “Makes sense,” was all he offered for now, sipping more of his drink. He set the empty glass down on the expensive coffee table below. “Thanos has to be dealt with. We need him somewhere vulnerable. We need to give Steve the opportunity he needs and then this 'problem' will all be over.”

“And what about until then?” Thor rumbled, unsatisfied. “Loki knows far too much. What If he took what he knew to the police? I bet he's scratched his name out of all the records,” he muttered, sounding bitter. “It would just be me screws over. Me and...father.”

“Have you tried maybe paying him a visit?” Tony asked tentatively.

“The last time I saw my brother he tried to kill me,” Thor breathed.

“Sounds awkward,” Tony sighed and lent back on the sofa, he glanced over at Steve briefly from where he was stood a little behind him, hands behind his back and smiled faintly. 

“You know what I'm going to say next Thor and you're not going to like it.”

“You're not harming Loki,” Thor growled. Sif stepped forward at that, tone logical but gentle when she spoke.

“He's the hold Thanos has in this city Thor,” Sif said. “He knows too much about you Thor. He's a weakness.”

“I don't understand what you're asking me to do Thor,” Tony shrugged. “You say Loki has betrayed us, but say we can't hurt him. Yet you expect me to help. What do you want me to do?”

Thor sighed and stared down at his now empty tumbler. 

“I have my own problems to be dealing with right now,” Tony continued. “Security problems,” he waved a hand somewhat dramatically. “Loki can do his worst to you. I'll lose a chunk of money, so what? I'll recover. You're not really winning me over here.”

“If Thanos takes over my business he'll have more influence in this city. Which will hardly make things easy for you, especially if he's already tried to kill you once,” Thor pointed out and Tony pulled a face in an almost childish manner. “He will try and take back what he thinks is rightfully is. We have to stand together with this.”

“Alright then. You give the word and I'll have Steve bring Loki in and find out all the nasty little secrets he fed to Thanos,” Tony stated. “That's the only solution I can see here Thor.”

“There's also another...Schmidt,” Thor breathed and tension sizzled in the room. Steve's interest peaked at the name but he tried not to show it. Schmidt...he had a terrible history with Schmidt, though a somewhat indirect one. “He wants Thanos dead too. They're competing on the stock markets. With Thanos out of the way Schmidt would find life a lot easier.”

“We are not buddying up with Schmidt,” Tony shook his head with a dry laugh. “No way Thor. He's one crazy fucker. Unpredictable. And we ask him to kill Thanos, for what in return exactly?”

“A favour,” Thor said and Tony snorted. “A favour from you means everything.”

“I'll consider it,” Tony said after a brief pause. “Then I'll get back to you.”

Thor sighed, apparently in relief. “Thank you friend. I appreciate this.” He stood with a soft grunt, turning to Sif. They shared a familiar look, “and sorry...for interrupting you.” He smirked subtly as Tony stood also, offering him a small nod. 

“Stay safe Thor.”

“You too Tony.”

Sif gave Steve a lingering look, almost like a warning before they turned to leave. The lift doors slid shut quietly behind them and the penthouse was left feeling empty. Steve finally took a moment to steal a glance around. It was much more personal than Tony's other house. A few stray papers and tablets left around on surfaces. A phone charger on the side. A discarded tie. An empty coffee mug, the inside stained with use. In other words, it was a jackpot. Here secrets would lie, if Steve could be given a chance to find them.

“Steve?” The assassin was dragged out of his thoughts with a hand on his waist. “I have a lot to think about tonight. I think maybe you should go home.” 

Steve nodded. He wasn't surprised. The moment from before had fizzled out. Tony had slipped back into business mode, his mind obviously churning with the possibilities of what was to come. 

“I'll see you when your next job is due,” Tony told him, squeezing before pulling away. His eyes were glazed over as he moved through to another room, voice distant when he added. 

“Show yourself out.” 

Steve went straight to the envelope at his bedside when he got home, eyes widening when he drew out the square picture that had been tucked inside. It was Rhodey, the head of Stark's own security team. Tony was clearly in a weaker position than he'd previously thought and a small part of Steve felt sorry for him. He couldn't help it, he knew it was wrong. Tony Stark was a criminal. A bad man. But Steve still felt sorry for him. It was all so damned screwed up. 

And Steve was getting caught right in the middle of it.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve didn't hear from Tony for days unsurprisingly. He didn't expect to. The mobsterboss had more than enough on his plate no doubt with Thanos in town. He got a few other job offers though from here and there but he ignored them. Steve just went to the gym. Ate. Slept. Stood stubbornly under the shower every morning he woke up with a hard on, cold water battering down on his shoulders until his arousal gave up. No self-indulgence. None. He wouldn't allow it. 

He had a curt conversation with Fury one night.

“If Schmidt is involved you know what that means shield,” he breathed gravely, voice hushed. “You cannot allow your cover to be blown. We've come too far for that now.”

“I know, I know director-”

“You must kill him, if it comes to it,” Fury stated. “Will you? Can you shield?”

“I d-don't-”

“He betrayed you,” Fury interjected.

“We both know it wasn't as simple as that,” Steve snapped. “They got to him, they screwed with his head. Bucky wouldn't-” he stopped himself, realising he'd just used a name.

When Fury spoke again his tone was a softer one. “But he did shield. He tried to kill you. He'll know you're undercover and he can easily expose you. What do you think they'll do to you if they find out what you are shield? Do you think they'll be understanding?”

Steve swallowed and rubbed at the nape his neck. “I'll deal with it director,” he murmured. 

“Good shield. Hopefully it won't come to it, but If it does, I know you'll do what's required of you. You never let me down when it really matters.”

Those words were a comfort when Fury hung up. 

*

Tony was having one hell of a week. In between his usual meetings and deals and lazy me-time (which usually involved half-hearted sketched ideas in the echo of blueprints) he was threating about the new Loki development. Thor was stubborn that whilst yes, Loki was an asshole, that he should not be killed nor tortured so Tony was forced to set up a meeting with Schmidt. Though he did wholly unsubtly remind Thor that he owed Tony a whopping huge favour.

But before he dealt with Schmidt, the psychopath that he was, he had something else to tackle first. Steve's fourth target. He said he wanted to be there, though Tony sort of regretted that now. Rhodey was a friend, an old one. It had hurt when he realised he'd been compliant in the planned coup against him. But just like Stane, Hammer and Vanko there was no point in grieving their betrayal. Tony didn't want to waste anymore of his time on people like them. They were weak, foolish. They thought they could screw over Tony Stark and naturally they had learnt their lesson. Just like Rhodey was going to. That didn't mean Tony especially wanted to watch though. But there was something oddly thrilling about the way Steve worked, watching the assassin in his element. Now that was a beautiful sight. 

And the fact that Tony hadn't even screwed the assassin yet was a bloody injustice in itself.

Rhodey was supposedly the end of the line too. He was where the trail of betrayal dried up, aside from a few underdogs. Grunts that worked in warehouses and the like, but they would be dealt with easily. The leaders were the priority and after Steve's torture sessions it was evident that Rhodey was the last of them. The man's friendly smile flashed in Tony's mind the last time he'd seen him, the gentle thrum of his laugh as he patted Tony's shoulder. The mobsterboss's expression grew grim and he went to pour himself a drink. 

Late that evening he went to Rhodey's apartment. He was welcomed in with a warm chuckle and a pat on the back. His old friend went to pour them drinks as Tony glanced around with an empty gaze. He swallowed and tried for a smile when Rhodey turned back to him, passing him a glass of something. Tony didn't know nor did he care. He wasn't going to drink it. 

“Pepper mentioned you were spending a lot of time with that assassin of yours,” Rhodey said and Tony shrugged.

“Haven't seen him for days. Haven't had any work for him for a little whiles yet,” Tony said, setting the glass down for now. Rhodey of course noticed but didn't comment, trying for a smile himself. “He's different to the others. He's just...better.”

“Better?” Rhodey echoed, tone lightly teasing. “I've heard that's not all he is.”

Tony shook his head and laughed dryly, “now I don't know what Pepper's been telling you...”

“You took him back to the tower Tony. You took an assassin back to the tower,” Rhodey raised a brow. “He must be...I mean can you really trust him Tony, really? Considering his profession?”

The irony of that question made Tony want to laugh out loud but he just shrugged again, “he saved my life last week Rhodey. He hasn't let me down so far. You know there's only a handful of people on this planet I really trust. But he's reliable, and also very easy on the eyes.”

“Tony you haven't-”

“Not yet,” Tony cut in, tone serious. “But I assure you, I will.” Rhodey rolled his eyes. It almost hurt, having such as en easy conversation like this. It was almost like it was all okay, like Rhodey wasn't a traitor. “You can't expect to understand Rhodes, he has the most spectacular-”

“Personality?” 

They both turned at the sound of Steve's voice. The assassin was perched on the countertop, legs dangling in front of it almost childishly. It was an unnerving sight, the smile on his face a far too innocent one. 

“Tony...” Rhodey's face had fallen and Tony looked at him sadly.

The mobsterboss just shrugged apologetically. 

“You can't be serious,” Rhodey breathed, shaking his head. “You think it was me?”

“I know it was you. Don't play this game with me Rhodes,” Tony murmured, shaking his head. He looked at Steve with a weighted gaze, nodding subtly. Steve held it, nodding too before Tony turned to leave.

“Tony!” Rhodey protested.

“Half an hour,” Tony said quietly before he stepped out of the door. “Just half an hour Stevie.” 

“Sure thing Mr Stark,” Steve slipped off and stood in front of Rhodey, cocking his head. “Whatever you want.”

*

He didn't stop protesting. It was harrowing. Steve could feel another part of himself begin to slip away, Rhodey's eyes so bright and afraid. He tried to fight Steve at first, but his heart wasn't in it, like he'd already given. Like he'd known this was inevitable. He understood why Tony had left, he could see the struggle in those dark eyes as the mobsterboss had turned away. He hadn't wanted to see his friend die, perfectly understandable. And in a way it was an odd relief to have no audience.

Steve had just finished tying the knots on the chair when he heard the sirens. He stood up to see police cars arriving outside. His own eyes widened and he looked don at Rhodey. “Lucky you,” he breathed, drawing out his knife.

“P-please-”

Steve slid the blade right into his heart in an instant death before he turned and ran, knife tucked into his jacket. Who had turned on them? Who had called the police? Someone must have tipped them off. If he was caught it wouldn't be the end of the world, naturally after Steve had explained that he was undercover and had it proved he would have been let go. But things would be cleaner cut and easier if he could just get away himself. 

Steve ran through the kitchen just as he hard fists hammering against the front door.

“Police! Open up!” They hollered as Steve climbed out onto the fire escape. He quickly began to make his way up to the roof just as he heard the police knock down the front door of Rhodey's apartment.

Steve broke into a sprint once he was up on the roof, not hesitating for a second as he jumped and rolled onto a lower roof below. His jacket took the worst of it, fabric tearing as he rolled across concrete. He broke into a run again, there was no time to hesitate. He pulled his mobile out of his jacket before he jumped again onto a lower roof, cradling the device against his chest as he rolled. He made a call with shaky fingers as he ran, hearing shouts behind him.

“Police! Stop!”

A bullet chipped into the concrete by Steve's feet as the dial tone went. Tony finally answered, his voice sounded empty.

“What?” The mobsterboss sounded agitated, tired.

“Someone tipped off the police. They're chasing me right now,” Steve said, glancing back to see little blue shapes in the distance. They wouldn't try to follow him, would they? He swallowed and went back to running. “The traitors can't end with Rhodey.”

There was a pregnant pause then Tony finally spoke up, “is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don't get caught.”

“Wouldn't dream of it Mr Stark.”

Twenty minutes later and Steve was lent against the elevator of Tony Stark's elevator, mumbling 'penthouse' under pained breath as he clutched at his side. He stumbled out when the doors pinged open, hardly able to stand. His fingers were all sticky with blood.

“Steve?” Tony appeared in the doorway then his eyes zeroed in on the wound. “Shit.”

“They didn't...” Steve sucked in a breath. He'd had wounds worse than this, but he'd just been running on this one and he was on the low after his immense adrenaline high. So yeah, it bloody hurt. “Didn't catch me...”

“I know,” Tony's voice was soft and his hand was on his shoulder, his phone pressed to his ear. He was speaking, to who Steve couldn't decipher. He could barely make out what was being said on Tony's end...the mobsterboss's fingers squeezed. Then he was guiding Steve over to a couch, pushing him down onto it gently. He lent down in front of Steve, his own eyes full of concern. Steve didn't think he'd even seen Tony look at anyone or anything like that. 

“You'll be okay,” he told the assassin. Steve believed him.

Voices were flitting around the room. A new one. He sounded friendly, Steve supposed. He wasn't really in a fit state to be drawing conclusions.

“Tony. You know I'm not this kind of doctor.”

“I can't take him to a hospital. Please Bruce.”

“...Fine. But don't blame me if he dies.”

A glass was pressed up against Steve's lips and he was told to drink. It burned like the hot smoke from a fire as it slipped down his throat. So that was his pain relief then. Fantastic. Steve thought he was laid out over a table of sorts but he couldn't be sure, his mind far too hazy for any sense of clarity. His jacket and shirt were off and someone was prodding at his side...sometimes it hurt, a stinging pain. He winced and would flinch but hands would press him back down, Steve's fingernails weakly clawing into the wood of the table below.

When Steve awoke he was in a bed. He pushed himself up automatically and groaned at the ache in his side. The bedroom looked lavish, just like the rest of the tower, but messier. He looked down at the source of the pain and found a bandage wrapped around his abdomen. Steve sighed and rubbed at his face, belatedly realising he was just in his boxers too. He swallowed and noted a soft, hushed conversation just outside the door.

“...Thanks Bruce.”

“Yeah, you owe me one. Just make sure he takes it easy. He'll be fine, so long as it doesn't get infected.”

“Easy...right...”

“Tony,” the voice was a little stern.

“I'll do my best,” the mobsterboss clipped and that seemed to be the end of the conversation as Tony pushed the door open all the way and stepped into the bedroom. 

“You're an idiot,” he told Steve flatly as he stepped inside. 

“Do you know who tipped them off?” Steve asked, voice claggy from sleep.

Tony shook his head, waving a hand. “That's not important right now.” Tony looked tired, Steve noted, more so than usual. It was early morning going by the light spilling in from the windows, the sky cloudy. Steve must have slept all night. “You should probably rest some more, or something,” he said awkwardly and Steve blinked.

“You want me to rest here?” 

“Doctor's orders,” Tony shrugged and he stepped up to the side of the bed, staring down at Steve with a serious look in his eyes. He sighed softly and reached out, cupping Steve's jaw. 

“You're not allowed to die until I've screwed you at least once, you know that Stevie?” He asked, tone clearly jesting and the assassin chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

“What? Those doctor's orders too Mr Stark?”

Tony smirked a little at that then lent down to kiss him. It was slow and sensual, Tony's fingers carding into the hair at the nape of Steve's neck to angle his head just right as he slipped his tongue into the assassin's mouth. Steve shivered beneath him. 

Tony pulled away with a sigh. “You're not supposed to strain yourself...” he said but his words lacked conviction.

Steve shrugged, ignoring the pain in his side for now, something akin to mischief glinting in his eyes as he tilted his head. 

“Well Mr Stark, I'll just have to let you do all the work then, won't I?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah this is *ahem* adult stuff mostly in case you want to skip it.

Don't indulge, Steve reminded himself as Tony Stark pressed down on top of him, the mobsterboss being surprisingly considerate of the wound by leaning down from the opposite side as he dragged his mouth down Steve's jaw hotly. Steve carded a hand through Tony's hair, tilting his head back to offer more skin. Tony hummed in approval and nipped at the edge of his jaw before trailing lower, sucking a mark into Steve's neck, higher enough that no collar would hide it. He made it dark, Steve letting out a pleased sound when Tony dragged his tongue over the bruised skin before pulling away. 

“I'm gonna fuck you now Rogers,” Tony breathed into his ear, fingers curling around his neck loosely and Steve's breath hitched. 

“Well get on with it then,” Steve huffed, breath hot against Tony's cheek when he tilted his head towards the other. Tony chuckled lowly, leaning down to nip the assassin's bottom lip. 

“Impatient are we, Rogers?” Just the way he said his name like that sent a shiver down Steve's spine. Steve popped open the first button of Tony's shirt and traced the collarbone underneath with the pad of his thumb. He could feel the man's arousal pressing against his hip and Steve smirked. 

“Seems that I'm not the only one,” he replied and Tony responded by trailing a hand down his back to the swell of his arse, fingers slipping underneath underwear to cup bear skin. Steve exhaled softly and arced up into the touch a little. Tony smiled then reached his other hand down before he promptly removed Steve of his underwear. 

Tony stood after that, taking a moment to admire the sight before him. “How do you still manage to look so damned gorgeous with a hole in your side Rogers?” The assassin gave him a teasingly innocent look as he laid there, cock curved against his abdomen in the beginnings of arousal. 

“So are you just gonna stand there or...?” Steve raised a brow. 

The edge of Tony's lips quirked up into a hint of a smirk and he moved to the bedside table, tossing a bottle that was familiar to both of them on the bed. The mobsterboss let his suit jacket fall off of his shoulders gracefully he walked to the foot of the bed, eyes on Steve the whole time of course. Steve had pushed himself up onto his elbows at his point, leant back as he watched with lust darkened eyes. 

“Like what you see Rogers?” Tony said, tone playful, movements oozing confidence and ease as he unbuttoned his shirt after loosening his tie. There was a scar in the centre of his chest, mottled and angry looking, but old too. Steve tried not to stare but Tony clearly noticed.

“That's a story for another day,” he breathed as he crawled back over Steve, the look in his eyes practically predatory as he moved over him. He admired the swell of Tony's biceps as he shifted over him and Steve trailed a hand down his arm. 

“Okay,” Steve murmured, his curiosity admittedly peaked. He gently traced his fingers over the scar and Tony shivered, leaning down to kiss Steve lazily as he trailed his own hands down the assassin's sides. Steve of course had his fair share of scars. Tony's hands only lingered over one, a pink scar that sat dangerously close to his heart.

“What's this?” Tony murmured against his lips.

“A mistake,” Steve told him simply, letting out a soft whine when Tony ducked his head down to trace his tongue over it. Then he dragged his teeth over Steve's muscled abdomen, making him shiver as he reached for the bottle of lube he'd tossed carelessly onto the sheets. 

“I've thought about this,” Tony's mouth was pressed up against his neck again. Steve was vaguely aware of the sound of a bottle being uncapped, head tilted back and whining as Tony lightly sank his teeth into his neck and sucking to leave another mark. “Stretching you open on my fingers,” he continued. “All the beautiful sounds you'd make. A man as dangerous as you Rogers...” he ran a hand down Steve's thigh, parting his legs a little as he settled between them. “Reduced to this,” Tony breathed against his jaw, Steve bucking up as sicked fingers curled around his cock, stroking teasingly. Tony laughed roughly. 

“Eager are we?” Tony rumbled, pressing his forehead against the other's. Steve's blue eyes became lost in the mobster's as a slicked finger circled his entrance. 

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, tangling a hand in his hair before he dragged their mouths together in a messy kiss, his own breath hitching as Tony pushed the first finger inside. Steve was no stranger to being stretched open like this, but it had been a while since he had. Lips parted and tongues slid together as Tony began to pump the single finger in and out. He added a second and at that Steve took a moment to adjust to the stretch. Tony seemed to sense this and pushed in deeper, crooking his fingers to graze across his prostate. Steve arced off of the bed with a low groan, all discomfort forgotten as it was soon replaced with pleasure. 

“That's It,” Tony splayed a hand over his abdomen, fingers gracing over the bandage lightly but still away from the wound. He remembered what side it was on still, how considerate, Steve thought dazedly. The hand traversed lower and curled around his thigh, parting his legs a little further. Steve moulded into his touch easily, his line of work for the past year leaving him conveniently flexible. Tony seemed to appreciate this and hummed admiring the sight before he added a third finger. Steve breathed out slowly at the stretch, eyes fluttering shut as his body accommodated it, cock now very much hard against his abdomen and leaving a smear of precome over his skin. Tony was obviously hard too, the tent in his trousers a significant one but he ignored it for now, concentrating on stretching Steve open. 

Tony lent forward again, the pad his thumb skimming over hard nipples teasingly making Steve arc up before he cupped his jaw and kissed the assassin deeply, twisting his fingers just right to graze over Steve's prostate again and make him moan into the kiss. Steve pulled away from it eventually, lips a little swollen from the kiss, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. 

“I'm ready for you,” he breathed raggedly. 

Tony didn't waste anytime in pulling his fingers out, going to remove his buckle when Steve gently stopped him with handles on his wrists. The assassin sat up, ignoring the dull ache in his side as he reached forward and undid Tony's belt with deft fingers. He discarded it on the floor then dragged the zipper of his trousers down. Steve looked up to meet the other's eyes as he massaged the bulge there briefly with the heel of his palm. Tony grunted as Steve slipped his fingers into his underwear, drawing out his hard member. The assassin stroked it briefly, swiping his thumb over the head and making Tony moan. 

Tony didn't seem to be able to take any more of that though and he promptly pushed Steve back down onto the bed, mouthing hotly at his neck as he dragged his hands up Steve's arms, pushing the assassin's wrists down onto the mattress. Steve parted his legs even further in invitation and one of his arms was released as Tony brought a hand down to hook one of Steve's legs over his shoulder, practically bending him in half. The head of his cock nudged against Steve's entrance and they both groaned. 

“Should have known you'd be so damn flexible,” Tony huffed, curling a hand around the base of his cock as he lined himself up. Steve let out a low whine as he began to push in, ass clenching around the head as it slipped inside, making Tony let out a moan himself. He braced a hand just aside Steve's head as he pushed in, foreheads pressed together briefly before he lent down to kiss Steve's bottom lip. When Tony bottomed out he paused and Steve was grateful, his mind reeling a little at the feeling of being so full.

Tony ran a hand through Steve's blonde hair in a surprisingly gentle manner, “you're gonna be the death of me Rogers.” Steve blinked, dragged back to reality for a moment as he realised how grimly close to the truth that statement was but then Tony was planting a hand on his hip and was beginning to move and all coherent thoughts soon flickered from Steve's mind. He kept it slow at first, the teasing drag of his cock inside of Steve as he almost lazily thrust in and out maddening. 

Steve practically whined in frustration, rocking back into each thrust with a tentative roll of his hips. Tony grinned, nipping at one of the marks he'd left on Steve's neck, almost admiring it for a moment before he conceded, breath tickling Steve's cheek before he kissed him. It was all tongue and teeth as Tony snapped his hips up, increasing the pace as he kept on hand in Steve's hair, the other on his hip to angle each thrust just right. Steve moaned loudly when Tony's cock hit his prostate right on. 

“I was right,” Tony said, voice broken with desire as he aimed each thrust like the last, hitting Steve's prostate purposefully. He trailed his fingertips over Steve's flushed cheek, nails leaving faint pink trails in their wake. “You do make the most beautiful sounds.” 

“Tony,” Steve murmured breathlessly as their mouths briefly met again, one hand braced against Tony's chest, the other curled around his shoulder for purchase as he rocked with each thrust. “Please-” he whimpered and arced up when Tony's cock grazed against his prostate perfectly, his own member achingly hard against his abdomen now. 

“I'd usually make you come on my cock alone,” Tony told him as he pushed into Steve with an especially deep thrust, drawing out another whimper. “But you did just take a bullet for me, I suppose.” Fingertips trailed down Steve's chest teasingly before they closed around his member, stroking in time with each thrust. Steve bucked up, hissing in pleasure as the much needed touch. 

It didn't take long then, Steve coming with a cry. He clenched around Tony's cock as his fingers dug into his shoulder, covering both his chest and the mobsterboss's hand in come. “Just gorgeous,” Tony praised, groaning himself as Steve clenched around him. He curled a hand around Steve's thigh, the other on his hip as his thrust in deeper, each movement more erratic than the last as he came closer to the edge. 

Steve let out a low whine as Tony thrust in one final time, spilling inside of him as he dragged their lips together into a filthy kiss, a hand tangling in the assassin's hair to angle his head just right as Tony delved into his mouth. Steve whimpered at the sensation of being filled, his body shuddering. When they parted they were both left breathless, Steve leaning up to steal another chaste kiss before Tony pulled out and flopped down next to him with a soft sigh. Tony lent onto his side and mouthed at the crook of Steve's shoulder lazily. 

“This is all mine now,” he murmured against Steve's skin, making him shiver as he felt a little spent run down the inside of his thigh. “You understand Stevie? No one else touches you like this.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Steve assured him, eyes still glazed over with the afterglow. Satisfied at the answer Tony propped himself up on an elbow and lent down to kiss him, gentler this time and slower too, taking his time as their lips slid together, his fingers delicately curling around Steve's neck.

“Good,” Tony hummed as he pulled away. “Now you should rest still. I need you recovered, and quickly. In a few days time we pay Schmidt a visit.”

Steve, to his credit, just blinked. The panic that seized his chest at the thought not materialising in his expression. He smiled a little, but it was admittedly a weak one that curled onto his lips. “Things are getting bad, huh?”

“They have to get worse before they get better,” Tony said simply and sat up, pulling his trousers back up, getting dressed. “I have work to do. Rest Rogers. Get better.”

“Aye, aye Captain,” Steve mumbled in a lazy jest as he let his body slump back down into the sheets, head cushioned lovingly by the unnecessary amount of pillows underneath. His eyes began to drift shut and he was half aware of the bed sheets being dragged back up to his shoulders. 

Steve remembered Tony's fingertips ghosting over the scar Bucky had left him as he slipped off into an uneasy slumber. It was a mistake. Just one. He'd never forgotten it. It had almost cost him his life. 

And Steve wouldn't let it happen again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's kinda just a filler chapter but it needed to exist so hey ho x

Steve woke with a soft yawn. His eyes blinked open blearily. He turned onto his side and grunted, side throbbing dully and lower down...ugh, he needed a shower. The assassin's head began to clear from the fog of sleep and he remembered where he was. What he'd been doing an hour ago...an odd, unexpected smile ghosted onto Steve's lips as he pushed himself up, running a hand through bed mussed hair. He stood with a slight wobble, gaining his balance quickly enough as he tottered over to one of the doors that lead out of the room. He spotted a tiled wall. Bingo. 

Steve pushed through into the bathroom and blinked. It was just as extravagant as the rest of the tower, but he ignored the ridiculously huge bath with bubbles and all that to wander over to the shower and turn on the spray to get the water warming. There was a dozen button other buttons and settings but he understood none of them and left them untouched in favour of turning the heat up a bit. Steve then remembered he had a bandage on and sighed, prodding at it and chewing at his lip. He sighed again and reluctantly turned off the shower.

The expensive bath was a pain but Steve managed to get it half full with warmish water, and eventually managed to get the bubbles off before slipping in with a sigh. The water felt amazing against his sore muscles. The jumping and rough landings from the day before hadn't been kind on him and a few stray bruises were beginning blossom across his skin. Steve lent his head back and allowed his eyes to slip shut for a moment. He exhaled slowly, mind processing what had just happened...if Fury found out he'd probably kill Steve. The assassin having promised he'd never let feelings get in the way of work again but yet here he was. Fury didn't need to know though. It would help Steve's mission, yes, but it hardly detrimental information. At least that was what Steve was going to tell himself to ease his conscience. And it wasn't his feelings that were getting played with, they were Stark's, right?

Once clean he tugged a towel round his waist and grabbed another, hooking it round his neck to dry his hair with. A pile of clothes had been left at the foot of the bed with Steve's phone on top, his old clothes having been torn and ripped from the chase the night before. How considerate. There were more comfortable than his usual gear and casual too. The jeans not-so skinny, grey instead black and a softer denim paired with a thin, cotton plaid shirt that had cross-hatching white and blue. They fitted perfectly, of course they did, knowing Stark he probably had them made specially. Steve sighed, glancing at the bed with its sheet mostly strewn about and twisted. He really had, hadn't he? For some reason a few hours ago felt a little surreal to Steve right now. But then he went to grab his phone and he felt it, felt the evidence of it in his walk as he moved. He shook his head to himself almost bemusedly as he slipped out of the bedroom, yep. It had definitely happened. 

Steve found his way to the kitchen area where Thor had interrupted their make out session easily enough. Coffee had been left in the pot, just enough for one more mug. It felt awkward almost as Steve poured it out, humming approvingly at the taste when he took a sip. He always drank it black, no sugar. He was an assassin, Steve reminded himself as he walked over to one of the huge windows, staring down at the city below. He didn't feel awkward, he shouldn't rather but he did. Steve couldn't help but feel a little...out of place, and not because he was an assassin for once, more because he clearly didn't fit in here. Didn't belong. It was all so extravagant, all so much and Steve's flat, well, in comparison it was practically empty.

He finished his coffee and left. He didn't seen anyone else till he took the lift down, sailing through security now, his name having clearly been given clearance. Steve thought about searching Tony's flat, but at a casual glance he hadn't seen anything that might equate to evidence. No tablets or laptops had been left lying around. Tony was still cautious, even in his home, Steve wondered if the man ever relaxed. He wondered if he even could. 

Steve called Fury as soon as he got back in. 

“You went to his home,” Fury stated. “You stayed for the night.”

“I was shot,” Steve said simply. “You know that I was chased director. You must have seen.”

“But there were no reports of any one managing to shoot the runner shield,” Fury said, tone insistent. “The police weren't the one's who-”

“No. I did, but it worked director. It helped me gain more of his trust,” Steve said, his own voice unwavering. “Shooting myself made sense.”

“And what happened once you got there?” He didn't sound best pleased but he obviously wasn't going to protest either.

“They patched me up, don't remember much admittedly. Then I woke up in a bed, the flat was empty so I left. He mentioned Schmidt too, I think. I imagine I'll be going with him,” Steve breathed. 

“Hm...” Fury didn't sound all that convinced. “And nothing else happened whilst you were there shield, you swear to me?”

Steve hesitated then swallowed. 

“...I swear director.” 

*

Pepper was sat typing in her office, fingers moving diligently as she didn't even glance away from the computer screen. She didn't glance up either when the door opened, recognising the ever familiar drag of feet over the smooth and expensive wooden floor. “Tony?” She breathed, “what do you want?”

“Why did you do It Pep?” Bright eyes glanced up to Tony's dull ones and she sighed, running a hand through her hair to draw her fringe off of her forehead.  
“I don't trust him,” Pepper murmured. “And not in-” she sighed. “I know you can't really trust an assassin Tony, but I don't trust that he's even that.”

Tony frowned, tilting his head. “You should have come to me about this. Not tipped off the goddamn police,” he huffed and sat down in front of her desk, head in his hands. 

“I tried to talk about it with you Tony, more than once,” Pepper reasoned, tone patient. Tony knew I was true. He never wanted it to hear it. Steve had been so much fun, all new and exciting, and he hadn't wanted to spoil it. “I did some...research,” Pepper continued. “It's bloody suspicious, okay? How can he be so good at his job and yet there's only traces of his work in the past year? Do you know what he did before?”

Tony shook his head meekly. “Well there's no record,” Pepper said. “Of anything. Steve Rogers has never been employed. At the age of twenty five.”

“Maybe he's just good at his job, and twenty five really?” Tony glanced up, sighing himself. It wasn't terrible, the age difference and the work had clearly aged Steve. Those blue eyes holding far too much history behind them to be bloody twenty five. Pepper's words sent his mind swimming with questions though. Who was Steve, who was his assassin? Where did he come from? Why was he so damn loyal to Tony...money right? And he enjoyed Tony's company, didn't he? Or at least he seemed to. He suddenly found himself full of doubt. “I thought he was a little older than that...” he admitted.

Pepper gave him a look. “Tony. You didn't.”

“Only once!”

“But you're going to do it again, aren't you?” Pepper shook her head in despair. “You've always had questionable tastes Tony, but really? An assassin?”

“He got shot last night, by your policemen,” Tony muttered and Pepper frowned.

“I checked the reports Tony. No one said they managed to shoot the attacker,” Pepper said. “They said he managed to escape whilst sprinting across rooftops.”

“Well then the reports must be wrong,” Tony stated, refusing to believe it. “Why else would he get shot Pepper? Look. I'm seeing Schmidt in a few days time. I need Steve with me now Rhodey's...Rhodey's...” he screwed his eyes shut and let out a ragged breath. Pepper's expression fell a little and she walked around, wordlessly tugging Tony into a hug. She ran hand through his hair soothingly.

“I know,” she murmured. “I know it's hard. Rhodey's betrayal hurt the most. But I still have faith in you Tony, I promise.” Pepper tilted his chin up to meet her gaze. “But this thing with Steve...I don't trust him. After you've dealt with Schmidt I want answers from him. And I think, as much as you hate to admit it, you need them too. We need to know who we can rely on Tony, now more than ever. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tony whispered then hugged her again. “What would I do without you Pep?”

*

Steve couldn't stop thinking about it. It being Tony, Tony and him...days had passed and it was still in the forefront of his mind. He could still vividly remember the drag of teeth along his jaw, the hot sensation of Tony's mouth on his neck, the mobsterboss's fingers pulling through his hair...

The wound was healing well, least there was that. Steve did aim the bullet it to ensure it avoided anything vital inside. So it really was just a flesh wound, by itself as long as he didn't strain it and with Bruce's good work it should be fine. Whoever Bruce was...all Steve could really recall was a voice, quiet and almost timid. But he couldn't remember the man's face, he'd been too far gone for that at the time. 

He couldn't stop thinking about meeting Schmidt too. If Bucky would be there, what he'd do if...Steve swallowed. He'd have to do whatever it took. He couldn't let his cover be blown and besides Bucky was a traitor. He'd tried to kill him, he didn't deserve Steve's mercy now did he? He didn't- 

There was a knock on the door, dragging Steve from his thoughts. He was dressed in just a loose cotton shirt and sweat pants as he moved to the door, knife on the counter a little too his left in case it was an unwelcome visitor. Steve curled his fingers around the worn, wooden door handle and pulled it open.

“Gonna let me in Stevie or are you just gonna stand there and gawk?”

“I'm just surprised that you actually used the doorbell,” Steve admitted and stepped aside, Tony walking past him. He was dressed in a simple black suit today, the red tie over a brilliant white shirt striking. Steve hurriedly shut the door behind him. 

Tony laughed quietly and hummed, turning to face him as he spoke. “Today's the day Stevie.”

Steve nodded, expression growing more serious. “I'll go get ready.”

“Hang on one minute,” Tony's fingers curled around Steve's wrist and tugged the assassin back, the other hand around the nape of his neck to draw him in closer. Steve glanced up, not entirely sure where he stood with the mobsterboss now. 

“Do you trust me Steve?” Tony murmured and Steve paused. He glanced away but Tony's fingers dug into his neck, drawing his gaze back. 

“You know I'd be lying if I said I did completely,” Steve whispered and Tony actually looked satisfied at that answer. “But to a degree, a healthy degree, yes I do. I know when I turn my back that you won't kill me Tony. But I also know there's a lot you're not telling me, but I don't expect you to tell me everything either.”

“Good, that's...good,” Tony breathed then lent up to kiss him, their lips meeting briefly but firmly. “Now go get ready,” he told him. “It's quite a drive.” 

Steve nodded and made to go before he found himself kissing Tony again, lingering this time as he braced a hand against his chest. Something glinted in the mobsterboss's eyes as Steve pulled away, both of them left a little breathless. Tony chuckled lowly and ran his fingers down Steve's cheek. Their noses nudged together gently. 

“Are you really twenty five?” Tony asked, breaking the quiet and Steve chuckled.

“Yes, why? How old are you Stark?” He breathed tone teasing, a faint smirk on his lips as he lent in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm...shut up,” Tony mumbled, cupping his cheek and sliding their lips together again, Steve smiling into the kiss as he poorly repressed a laugh.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a bit longer than the others and thank you again for all your lovely comments x

Steve could tell Tony was tense, the ever charming smile not quite reaching his eyes as they got into the car. There was no Happy today and the car was different, some expensive model Steve tried but failed to recognise as Tony started up the engine. The assassin had a sense he should stay quiet, leave Tony to his own thoughts and to focus on the drive. So he settled back in his seat, gaze dragging over the passing scenery. Tony seemed to appreciate the quiet too and said nothing either. 

They drove for a while, the journey stretching on beyond an hour as they drove out of the city towards the harsher areas of towns, building's littered with broken windows, crooked doors and the streets with litter and worse. Steve didn't comment and Tony seemed to know where he was going, not checking his phone or anything else for directions as they went. Maybe it was a usual drop off point they used or something. If they really were meeting Shcmidt himself it would be somewhere off the map, remote and desolate. They ended up in a warehouse district unsurprisingly and Tony drove a little slower, finally speaking up. 

“He's only supposed to have one guy with him,” Tony told him. “As am I. If he has extras, you take them out and we leave.”

“Got it,” Steve hummed. He was armed properly today at least, he was ready for a fight if it came to it. If Bucky was there...he didn't know what he'd do. He could hardly take him out in front of Schmidt and Tony, could he? That would arouse just as much as suspicion if Bucky talked.

Bucky was like him. He worked undercover, got picked up by Fury the same time Steve was. They'd trained together, hell they'd practically become brothers. Or so Steve had thought. They'd worked more than one case together but as they'd gotten older they'd spread apart, things had become more distant...Steve had been working a case in Canada at the time when Fury had told him, worried that Bucky had become compromised. Bucky had been sent to infiltrate Schmidt's empire, been inside for just under a year. He'd stopped calling Fury, stopped sending through information and Steve had been sent in to try and make contact. 

Bucky had agreed to meet Steve in some old, empty flat in a run down apartment block. Steve had assumed it would be okay, he'd thought then Bucky would never betray him, that they would be friends till the end of the line. Then when he'd arrived at the flat...Steve had barely recognised Bucky. His hair was long, shadowing over his face, mad bright eyes peeking through the messy locks. Schmidt had gotten to him, must have brainwashed him or something...he'd shot Steve and left him for dead. It was a miracle that he'd even survived. Steve just hadn't anticipated it, Bucky didn't even say a word to him he just pulled out a gun...the pain of the betrayal had hurt more than the bullet. 

They could never really be sure how much Bucky had told Schmidt. But it was evident what side he was on, and if he saw Steve waltzing in next to Tony Stark he'd know Steve was undercover. What would stop him from exposing Steve really? The assassin let out a slightly shaky breath as Stark pulled the car up outside a warehouse, a little ways off from the others. It had yellowed, rusty walls and as they walked over, assassin and mobsterboss, the rancid smell only became stronger. Steve glanced around, only spotting one other car parked anywhere near, something expensive like Tony's. 

“Rogers you look more nervous than me,” he commented and Steve laughed, though it was slightly forced.

“What, me? I'm fine,” Steve said with a tight smile and Tony obviously wasn't convinced as he nudged the warehouse door open with the toe of an expensive brogue before stepping in, Steve right behind him. 

“You busy this evening Rogers?” He asked, tone far too casual considering the situation.

Steve shrugged, “I guess I could be...” 

Tony had the nerve to poke him in the side, the action itself almost a childish one. “That means you are.” But then all playfulness faded from Tony's features as his eyes landed on the two figures waiting for them in the distance. He slipped into complete business mode, Steve noted, back a little straighter and face all kinds of intimidating as they stepped over.

Steve's breath hitched. Bucky was there, of course he bloody was. But it was just Bucky, no one else, aside from Schmidt of course. Schmidt himself was terrifying, dark eyes piercing into them both, leather gloved hands curled into light fists by his side like he was tense. The man clearly didn't enjoy waiting. Were they late? Probably, knowing Tony.

Bucky's eyes flitted over to Steve's and their gazes locked. He admittedly looked healthier than he had years ago when he'd shot Steve, his hair cut shorter in an echo of his previous style. His gear not dissimilar to Steve's. His expression was unreadable though. Was he going to spill? Steve was ready to reach for his gun in an instant if he did. Schmidt, he supposed, was expendable as (regretfully) was Bucky but he had to get Stark alive. They had apparently been staring, catching the attention of both their bosses who seemed to have forgone greetings in favour of watching them both. 

Tony cleared his throat, finally dragging Steve's attention away from his former friend. The tension was so thick it was almost suffocating. 

“You two know each other,” Tony stated, pointing between them. “Are we gonna have a problem here?”

Steve's breath hitched. 

Bucky practically glowered, his face void of any hint of happiness or humour. “No,” he answered flatly, glancing back to Steve briefly. “No problem.” Steve resisted the urge to sigh in relief. He had no idea why Bucky wasn't saying anything but he was damned grateful that he wasn't. 

“You're late,” Schmidt cut in, German accent strong and prominent in each word. 

Tony shrugged nonchalantly. “Got held up with stuff,” he said and flashed an easy smile but Schmidt wasn't taken in, naturally, though he seemed to be willing to put up with Tony's annoyances. Maybe he didn't really have a choice, Steve mused. “I'm here to cash in my favour, after you know, saving your ass all those years ago...”

“I'm surprised you still keep him around,” Tony adopted a new tone, glancing over at Bucky briefly. “Considering...”

“He's useful,” Schmidt said flatly, voice unwavering. “Better. It's the way they train them, once you cut through all the lies and get down to the raw man below.” He smiled horribly and the sight made Steve want to shudder, trying not to stare at Bucky. His old friend, despite looking healthier, he didn't look remotely happy. Not that Steve would exactly expect him to...but there was no light behind his eyes. Nothing. Like he was dead inside. 

The sight sort of made Steve want to cry in a way, Bucky here now digging up all the hurt and betrayal from the past. He thought he'd left it behind, but Bucky right before him had trawled it all back to the forefront of his mind. And if he wasn't exposing Steve...that meant his friend inside wasn't all lost, he couldn't all be. Else why would he lie and keep Steve's true identity and purpose hidden?

“Your favour,” Schmidt brought up, tone impatient. “What might this be Stark?”

“Thanos. Need him dead.”

Schmidt snorted, “you must-”

“Oh I'm serious,” Tony breathed coolly, stepping forward. Despite him being smaller than Schmidt Tony certainly didn't look to be the one intimidated in this scenario. “We need him gone. He's about to stir up a shit storm in our city. Also a little birdie told him his death would benefit you greatly Schmidt...”

“Exactly,” Schmidt seethed. “He dies. The police come knocking on my door!” 

“They come knocking on all our doors,” Tony shrugged. “We all benefit one way or another from Thanos's death, whether it be through stock markets or competing areas. But if you framed someone, or two peoples even, that always makes it more convincing...and framed them well. Well, I don't see why we'll have a problem Schmidt, do you?” He cocked his head, something dangerous creeping into the edge of his tone. Steve almost felt intimidated just listening to him, he couldn't begin to imagine being in Schmidt's shoes right now. 

“Fine. Though this favour feels like it rather outweighs the one I owe you Stark,” Schmidt muttered. “Barnes will deal with Thanos no problem, question is who do we frame?” 

“You can work that one out yourself,” Tony patted his shoulder and squeezed a little tightly. “Thor's been having some issues with his brother, have you heard?” Schmidt hummed and Tony smiled a little too enthusiastically. “I think you get the picture Schmidt. We'll show ourselves out.” He turned to go and beckoned to Steve with his hand, “c'mon Rogers.”

Steve gave Bucky one last look and he nodded to Steve subtly before he turned back to Schmidt. Was this his apology for nearly killing Steve? Was this him repaying his debt? Steve wasn't sure, but it was over and he was seemingly still safely undercover, for now at least. 

Steve realised his hands had been shaking as they got back into the car and curled them into fists on his lap, hoping that Tony hadn't noticed. But he doubted the mobsterboss had as he was already on the phone. “Yep...Clint, you can stand down now. Thanks.” He offered Steve a small, truly genuine smile as he tucked his phone away into his breast pocket before starting up the car. Steve smirked subtly himself, so Tony had had back up. Hardly surprising. “So Stevie, how did you know Schmidt's retrained copper?” 

Steve exhaled slowly, considering his answer and swallowing before he finally murmured. “He was my mistake.” 

Tony nodded as he pulled away from the warehouse, “makes sense I guess. I suppose when he shot you he was still a cop?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve answered thickly, still kinda dazed at the fact that he'd actually gotten away with this. His cover hadn't been blown and he didn't have to take out Bucky. Unless Bucky spilled to Schmidt now or tonight...but that wouldn't make sense, there'd be no reason for him to hesitate. No, Steve told himself, he was good. The assassin briefly glanced over to the bulge in Tony's jacket where his phone lay. He needed to get his hands on that at some point, he had no doubt that mobile held many invaluable secrets. 

Tony's hand curled onto his thigh as they stopped by a red light, dragging him back down to earth and Steve blinked, settling into the touch a little as he glanced across at Stark who was poorly pretending to be focused on the road. “Kinda feels like it almost went too smoothly,” Tony murmured. “You know? Schmidt agreed quite easily.”

“You gave him the perfect person to frame,” Steve assured him quietly. “You've given him the opportunity and the encouragement. I wouldn't worry about it. He also looked kinda scared of you.”

“Yeah,” Tony let out a somewhat cruel sounding laugh. “Let's just say last time he tried to mess with my business I flattened about half of his.” Steve smirked properly at that, the news pleasant to hear. He'd taken Steve's old friend away from him and the assassin's sadistic side wanted Schmidt to suffer for it in anyway he could. The hand on his leg squeezed lightly. “We're headed back to mine, sound good?” 

“Sounds perfect Mr Stark.”

*

Tony didn't touch him once they were in the elevator. Something was off...Steve could tell, the mobsterboss's smile not quite reaching his eyes as they stepped out into his penthouse suite. A new kind of tension fizzled in the air, one the assassin couldn't identify. All the relief from earlier twisting back into a new sort of anxiety which settled uncomfortably in his gut. Steve was surprised to see Pepper sat at the kitchen table, laptop in front of her as she typed, when they stepped through. 

The woman glanced up from her typing, “Tony,” she greeted before reluctantly adding. “Rogers.” Her and Tony shared a look and it wasn't a good one. Tony let out a whining noise and huffed indignantly. 

“Pep do we have to do this now?”

“Yes,” Pepper said curtly and gestured to the chair in front of her, tone and expression deadly serious. “Sit Rogers.” 

Steve glanced over to Tony in confirmation, gaze questioning but he got nothing from the other's. Tony just nodded subtly and almost sadly towards the chair and Steve moved over, sitting down uneasily as Pepper's gaze bore a hole right into him. 

“Is Steve Rogers your real name?”

Steve raised a brow, “what kinda of question is that?” 

“Just answer it Stevie,” Tony's tone was cold and sharp as it cut through the stuffy air in the room.

“I'm an assassin,” Steve deadpanned. “Of course it isn't. But it's my name now,” he said clearly. “And its the one I answer to.”

Pepper appeared to be marginally satisfied by this answer. “Your real name then 'Rogers'?”

Steve laughed a little nervously, half squirming in his seat. “You can't be serious-”

“Steve,” Tony appeared beside Pepper's side, gaze set. Steve had never seen this look before and Steve certainly didn't like it. Was this the real Tony? The one that trusted no one? 

Stark's next words were spoken purposefully, like an order. 

“Just answer the question.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's bad I wrote this when I was super sleepy but I just needed to write so yeah. Also more adult stuff, but some plot too. Best of both worlds, yay! x

Tony watched Steve intently, picking up on every subtle movement. Every twitch of his fingers that were curled over his lap neatly, every flicker in his eyes as his gaze shifted about calmly. Steve had slipped into some kinda of serene composure, like he'd been expecting this. And he probably was, Tony supposed. He must have known that at some point Tony would want answers, explanations and reassurances. And if Steve really had nothing to hide well then...he shouldn't have any problem in giving them. 

In the car the assassin had been jumpy, Tony couldn't help but notice however now he knew that Schmidt's little ex-policeman had shot him, well it made far more sense. So that wasn't worrying him, and Thanos was supposedly dealt with too...all that was left was Steve and his final fifth target. Whoever Steve really was...Tony just hoped it would work. Steve was tremendous fun, both in work and out of it. And what could Stark say? He'd sort of grown fond of the assassin, so unlike all the rest. He really was a breath of fresh air, Tony just needed to check it was the good kind. So here he was in his usual business deal stance, leaning over the table as he bore into Steve, tone flat and unforgiving.

“Just answer the question.”

Steve swallowed, tension evident in his jaw and the way he pressed his palms together but he tried not to show it. What was he so afraid of? Tony glanced sideways and caught Pepper's eyes, she nodded subtly to his left breast inside pocket. Of course Tony was armed, if it did come to that (though he dearly hoped it would not). They were about to interview a deadly assassin and could only pray everything would go swimmingly. No, Tony Stark was always prepared for the worst eventuality, it was why he had lasted so long. And it was why, however begrudgingly, he had agreed to do this with Pepper. They needed to know if they could trust Steve, simple as. Of course they never could completely, in their line of work complete trust didn't exist. Tony was dubious if it even could exist. But they needed to know that Steve was at least what he said he was, that he could be trusted to do good work without a conflict of interests. 

“My real name,” Steve breathed out. “Alright. Fine,” he conceded and shifted a little in his seat. Tony waited patiently for him to continue. “I was born as Luke Jones, my parents were married. Joseph and Marilyn. We lived in New Jersey, I grew up there.” The words were spoken simply and calmly, almost like they were rehearsed but the awkwardness in Steve's features suggested otherwise. He looked uncomfortable, as if talking about his past was unnatural to him. Tony imagined he wasn't keen to explore it, no one became an assassin with a happy, sappy childhood and perfect parents as their back story. Pepper was typing away quickly, presumably checking out his story so far. She said nothing, so it must have all been good.

When Steve fell quiet Tony gave him a pointed look and a curt nod for him to continue. 

“My father was abusive. Not to me so much, more to my mother,” he shifted in his seat again, looking more and more uncomfortable as he continued. “I killed him when I was thirteen years old with a pair of scissors. My mother took the blame, then she took her own life in prison.” 

Jesus, Tony thought. It was pretty bleak, though in his line of work he'd heard a lot worse but it did also explain how Steve got into killing. He fell into it from a young age. Many assassins did. Steve sighed before carrying on, suddenly he was beginning to look tired. 

“I fell into a bad crowd as I flitted between foster homes until I was eighteen. It was around then I fell under the wing of another assassin. At the time I was mostly just a carrier, drugs, weapons whatever. But sometimes I got my hands dirty,” Steve pressed his thumb into the centre of his palm. “Her name was Peggy Carter. She died three years ago. You might have heard of her.” 

Tony had heard of Carter. She'd done a lot of work for Schmidt in the past but then apparently had got caught up with the police. The ending of it all was messy, Carter had got hit in the crossfire. It was a tragic loss, her work had been immaculate. Tony had hired her once or twice himself for a few small targets. Now he could see the similarities in their work, methodical and calculated. They were neat and clean cut. It made perfect sense now, that she had been Steve's tutor. 

“After she died I took a break from it all,” Steve continued quietly, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Then just over a year ago I decided to pick up work again, with my new name.” He explained and Pepper typed swiftly, eyes darting across her computer screen. She glanced over at Tony and nodded subtly. Tony resisted the urge to sigh in relief. It all checked out. They were good. 

“That makes sense,” Tony hummed and visibly relaxed though he didn't smile just yet. “See?” He tilted his head, “was that so hard?” 

Steve gave him an almost petulant look. “No...I suppose not, you happy now?”

“Delighted,” Tony assured him flatly. Pepper was beginning to pack up her things, computer smoothly tucked away into her bag before she hooked it over her shoulder. She spoke, but only to Tony, seemingly ignoring Steve.

“I'm going to just check in with Natasha and Kate,” she breathed, tucking a loose strand of ginger hair behind her ear. “Get them updated about Schmidt and everything.” 

“Sure thing Pep,” Tony chimed and she offered him a small but weak smile as she stepped out of the kitchen and into the elevator. The doors closed with a soft whirr and Tony turned back around to face Steve. “You were making her nervous,” he explained and stepped forward. “And your history did kinda make it look like you just popped out of nowhere...”

Steve raised a brow, arms now crossed over his chest. He looked unimpressed, Tony couldn't blame him. If he was forced to sit down and spew out his entire life's history he wouldn't be happy about it either. Though in a way Tony's was simpler. Parents died young. Left him a small fortune. He used it wisely. Was generally awesome and now he was at the top of his game. He walked behind Steve, fingertips trailing over the nape of assassin's nape. The mobsterboss smiled when he felt him shiver a little under his touch. “Don't be grumpy,” Tony lent down and mouthed at his neck. Steve exhaled softly under his touch and he grinned against his neck, nipping lightly before he straightened up. 

“I'm not being grumpy. I'm just a little annoyed,” Steve huffed then stood too, head cocked almost coyly. It was Tony's turn to raise a brow at him, almost like a challenge. “And frustrated.”

“How convenient...” Tony hummed and made to walk away, somewhere in the direction of the bedroom but then Steve's hand was on his shoulder and before he knew it the assassin had crashed their mouths together in a heated kiss. Tony (thankfully) managed to stifle a noise of surprise and simply kissed him back, letting Steve lead for now as lips parted and he tangled a hand in the assassin's blonde hair. When Steve pulled away his cheeks were tainted pink with a light flush and his hair was mussed. It was a beautiful sight, Tony thought. And he was so glad he didn't to lose it. 

“What did you...what did you think I was?” Steve breathed against his lips, tone and expression curious as he trailed his fingertips along Tony's jawline. “Why were you so suspicious?”

“Because you were too good to be true, or at least I thought so. But I don't mind being wrong on this one singular occasion,” Tony murmured. “It's just after my little attempted coup...well I suppose it's just made me all the more paranoid. You can never be too careful.” 

Steve made a noise of agreement and then dragged his teeth along Tony's jawline, making the mobsterboss shudder. “You know I really think we should vacate...” Tony then trailed off as Steve got onto his knees before him and that really, really was a beautiful sight. “That eager, are we?” He teased lightly, running a hand through Steve's hair again as the assassin lent forward and nuzzled at his crotch. Tony hissed quietly and certainly wasn't going to protest as Steve brought up his hand, massaging into his groin with the heel of his palm as Tony's arousal rapidly grew. 

The evening light that filtered through the huge windows cast a warm glow over Steve's face as he reached forward, mouthing at the bulge in Tony's trousers, his mouth teasingly hot over the fabric and Tony cursed under his breath. His back soon met with the wall and he'd soon need the support as Steve reached up, wasting no time as he dragged down the zipper of Tony's trousers. Long, dexterous fingers were soon curling around the mobsterboss's cock and drawing it out of the confines of his boxers. Tony let out a low, pleased sound, very much full hard now and throbbing in Steve's hand. Then the other lent forward and kissed the head of his cock, the tip of his tongue trailing over the slit and Tony groaned then, the sight as gorgeous as the touch. Steve made sure to meet his gaze too, just as those pretty pink lips parted and he sucked the head of Tony's cock into his mouth. 

Tony just managed to stop himself from bucking straight up into Steve's mouth, the touch a wonderful velvet heat around his cock. Steve had done this before, Tony could tell, the things the assassin could do with his tongue practically sinful as he swirled it round the head then trailing along a vein underneath as he took more in. Tony reached a hand down and cupped a hand gently over Steve's jaw, guiding subtly but not controlling, letting him go at his own pace. The assassin hummed around him, taking more in until the head of Tony's cock nudged the back of his mouth. 

“You look so pretty like this,” Tony told him, voice husky. “With your lips all stretched around my cock.” That, interestingly, seemed to spur Steve on and he curled his wonderfully long fingers around the base of Tony's member before beginning to bob his head. Then he began to graze every so lightly with his teeth each time he pulled away and Tony was lost, rocking his hips ever so slightly into Steve's mouth. “Ah Stevie-” he used the hand on his jaw to pull Steve's mouth away, making an obscene sound as he pulled off. Tony stared down at him with lust darkened eyes, the sight of the assassin like this a thrilling one, his lips all red and glistening with precome and spit. Tony hummed approvingly at the sight, “when I come it's going to be inside of you.” He told him simply, dragging the pad of his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. 

Steve ended up on all fours on his bed, letting out broken sounds and pleasant little whimpers as Tony stretched him open on his fingers, a hand on his hip to keep him steady. His work clothes and gear having been discarded somewhere in the hallway. The wait was agonising, Tony having been so damn close to the edge before. But it was more than worth it Tony reminded himself as he curled his hand over the curve of Steve's arse, squeezing teasingly. “Beautiful,” he murmured, half to himself as Steve pushed back on his fingers. 

“I'm ready. Just get on with it,” the assassin muttered heatedly, head hung low between his shoulders and hands fisting in the sheets. 

“If you insist.” Tony kept his hand on Steve's hip as he used the other to guide himself in, both of them groaning in unison as the head was pushed inside. Steve shuddered underneath him as he bottomed out and Tony planted both his hands on Steve's hips. He lent down and bit down on the nape of Steve's neck, sucking a dark mark there whilst he waited for the other to adjust to the stretch of his cock, making the assassin squirm beneath him. 

“You're gorgeous like this,” Tony breathed, hot breath tickling the back of Steve's neck. “All laid out before me, and all mine too.” He pressed a soft kiss to the mark before pulling back and finally giving in to instinct, drawing his hips all the way out before he thrust back inside unrelentingly. He set a steady, deep pace, dragging his cock in and out of Steve and with it truly delicious sounds. Then Tony found his prostate and Steve cried out, back arcing up as Tony aimed his thrusts to hit that same sweet spot each time. Steve rocked back into his thrusts best he could soon couldn't keep up with the pace and ended up gripping the headboard in front of him, knuckles white as they curled over the black railing. 

Tony felt his own movements began to falter as he grew close and moved a hand underneath Steve, curling his fingers around his cock as he swiped his thumb over the head. He hit the other's prostate once more and that was all it took for Steve to come over Tony's fingers and the bed sheet below with a loud moan. He clenched around Tony as he came, urging the mobsterboss on further. Tony gripped Steve's hips a little tighter and quickened his pace until he thrust inside once last time and came with a groan himself, hands smoothing over the small fingertip bruises he'd left on Steve's hips. 

The fell asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs and Tony thought maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this. It wasn't so bad. Steve's steady breathing as he drifted off to sleep next to him was comforting, with his head tucked into the crook of Tony's shoulder, his cheeks all pink and hair sticking up every which way. The sight almost a cute one.


	13. Chapter 13

Soft morning light filtered in through the gaps in the curtains and flickered over Steve's face. His eyes fluttered open and he woke with a groan, rolling over in the sheets to shield his face from the sunlight. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, finding Tony Stark still asleep next to him, one arm lightly curled over Steve's side. Yesterday had been close, way too close. Of course none of that stuff about his real name being 'Luke Jones' and him killing his father was true. The real Luke Jones had died years ago but that had been conveniently covered up for Steve's sake. And well Peggy of course had been undercover too, she'd gotten shot out on the field but her real identity and purpose had never been compromised. She made the perfect cover story for how Steve got into his line of work, for who trained him. Fury had ensured him it would all check out if he told the story and thankfully it had, Steve just hoped he told it half convincingly. But Tony certainly seemed convinced, especially when the assassin had gotten onto his knees. 

Steve yawned quietly, rubbing at his face as he sat up. He stole a glance around at all the corners of the room then mentally cursed himself. Of course Tony wouldn't have cameras in his own bedroom, that would be quite ridiculous. There was dried spent between his thighs, making him grimace as he stood. He found his clothes in the hallway, dragging on trousers and boxers hurriedly before he got to work. Steve knelt down by the bed, quickly searching through Tony's own trousers. His hands closed around a phone but to unlock it of course it required a pincode. He huffed in frustration and quickly tucked the phone away as Tony stirred on the bed, rolling onto his back as he mumbled something under his breath. But then something occurred to Steve...he thought back to the research he'd done on Tony before all this. His parents had been killed in a car crash, the year-

The phone unlocked with the year they'd died and Steve sent a hurried look up at Tony to check he was still asleep. For now, at least. He pulled his own phone out and got out the camera, quickly snapping pictures of Tony's entire contact list, names and numbers. He was about to start searching through emails when Tony mumbled out, “Steve?”

The assassin froze, breath hitching as he realised the mobsterboss still thankfully had his eyes closed. He quickly slipped Tony's phone back into his trousers before tucking his own into his back pocket. Steve walked over to the bedside, leaning down to press a small kiss to the corner of the other's mouth.

“I'm right here,” he murmured. Tony's sleepy gaze settled on his face and Steve lent down, gently tracing his fingers over the substantial scar in the centre of Tony's chest. But Tony caught his wrist, stilling his hand shook his head subtly.

“Not today he breathed,” and Steve straightened up. Steve wanted to know, he really did, his curiosity was peaked. There was a tale behind that scar and he was damned going to find it out before he ended this. Or he was finally exposed, either way though it did seem Steve was safe for now at least. Or maybe that was just what Tony wanted him to think...all the mind games...Steve couldn't wait for them to be over. 

“Envelope...s'on the counter,” Tony breathed. “Natasha will be here soon.”  
“'Course,” Steve murmured, fingertips trailing over his shoulder before he stepped out, the mobsterboss beginning to push himself up too, supposedly getting dressed. Steve tugged and strapped on the rest of his gear in the hallway before heading into the kitchen. His fifth target was waiting for him inside. He swallowed and glanced around awkwardly, not sure if he should wait for Tony or just go. But then Tony appear in a cotton tee and sweat pants, the sight unsettlingly domestic as he walked up to Steve, those hazel brown eyes giving him an almost fond look.

“That one-” he gestured to the envelope in Steve's hand. “Is a priority.” He tapped the paper, tucking it into Steve's jacket for him. He gripped the fabric a little roughly under his fingertips, something dangerous flickering behind the mobsterboss's eyes briefly. Steve didn't like it. Then Tony pulled away, an effortless smile curled onto his lips. “You'd better get on with it then,” he said in a disguised command to make the kill quick. 

“I guess so,” Steve breathed, head tilting a little before Tony lent in to kiss him, briefly yet firmly. He patted Steve's shoulder as they parted. 

“Let me know how it's going, keep in touch.”

Steve went home quickly. He needed a shower, even a bath maybe, then he'd take a little time to himself. Maybe finally read one of the books from the bookshelf in the living room. He was too drained for the gym right now. Steve tottered up the steps to his flat absent-mindedly though paused in his tracks when he saw that the door was left ajar, just a crack. The lock had been picked. Steve's expression hardened and he slowed his steps as he walked towards the door, hand sneaking into his jacket ready to pull out the gun that was tucked into the inner pocket. He kicked the door the rest of the way open and it squeaked awkwardly as his kitchen was revealed. 

Sam was sat at his kitchen table, feet propped up on a second chair in front of him as he munched on some Dorito chips he'd gotten from Steve's cupboard. Steve shut the door behind him quickly, perhaps a little loudly and practically marched straight up to him. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed, “you could compromise-”

Sam raised a hand to quieten him and gave him an unamused look. He slipped another chip into his mouth and crunched down on it loudly. “It's just a check up. I can be out of here in a moment if trouble arrives,” he assured him. “This really any way to greet a friend Steve? Come on man,” he stood, dropping the chip packet before he pulled a somewhat stunned Steve into a hug. “You need to relax,” he said, holding him at an arms length as he looked Steve up and down. “When was the last time you relaxed?”

“You are kidding right?” Steve said though a warm smile found its way onto his lips. Sam was an old friend, a good friend. He hadn't seen him in almost year. A fondness flooded his chest, a comforting feeling blossoming as he realised how much he'd really missed him. And how damned glad he was to see him. 

“Come on, sit down. I'll make us coffee,” Sam said, patting his shoulder and squeezing before he pulled away. Steve swallowed. He knew that Sam wouldn't be here unless Fury gave him permission or sent him, as glad as he was to see Sam it meant something was up. 

“What's...what's wrong?” Steve breathed and Sam stilled as his finger flicked the kettle on to boil. “Has something happened Sam?” 

“He's worried about Bucky,” Sam said only.

“He could have easily exposed me and he didn't Sam,” Steve said quietly. “And he still hasn't. I know part of our old Bucky's still in there-”

“He tried to shoot you Steve!” Sam turned back round to face him, voice thick with hurt. “When will you get that? He tried to kill you man.”

Steve stared down at his worn boots and swallowed. “I think he regrets it...”

“You don't know that. You can never know. You're too close now Steve,” Sam stepped up to him. “You can't afford to get compromised.”

“He's also...” Sam continued, “concerned that you spent another night at Stark's. He's worried that you're-” he cleared his throat. “You know.”

Steve snorted and shook his head, “please. I've learnt my lesson.”

“Have you though?” Sam raised a brow. “Look Steve, I'm just here because I care, okay? And I know, we all know, that you can get emotionally invested in things way too quickly and easily. I just want you to be plain with me here. Are you doing him?”

Steve's eyes flickered up and Sam already knew the answer. “Please don't tell Fury.”

“Steve-”

“He'll go ballistic,” Steve breathed. 

“With good reason...”

“No,” Steve disagreed. “No. I know what I'm doing Sam. I just got all of his phone contacts today, all of them. I don't know if I could have got them otherwise. It's necessary. He trusts basically no one right now. Hell I was practically interrogated last night. But I passed, I passed Sam,” he said, tone imploring. “I think Tony Stark might even be beginning to genuinely trust me. You're right, I am too close now. I've so nearly finished with this, and I'm not going to let anything screw it up.”

“You sure about that?” Sam asked in a murmur. “Tony Stark is a bad man, a very bad man Steve. I know he might seem all charms and smiles in person but remember all the hurt he's caused-”

“I know the hurt he's caused Sam,” Steve snapped and turned away from him. “I've been a part of it.”

“I saw Hammer...and Stane and Vanko,” Sam said softly. “That's not you man. Really not you. I know we that we all want to catch Tony Stark,” he stepped forward and patted Steve's arm. “But we don't want to lose our own Steve Rogers in the process.” Steve smiled sadly as Sam simply added, “alright?”

“Alright,” Steve affirmed then straightened up with a slightly brighter smile. “Now if you'll just excuse me for five minutes I really need a shower.” Sam pulled a face and waved him away, a weak yet genuine chuckle escaping Steve as he headed into the bathroom. 

He emerged in comfortable clothes with blonde, damp hair plastered to his forehead. Sam glanced up from his phone, expression apologetic. “I've gotta go man, been called in.” 

“Yeah? What's up?” Steve asked as grabbed himself an apple from the fruit bowl. 

“Thanos is dead,” Sam said. “Do you know anything about it?” 

Steve stared down at the apple in his hand for a moment, digging the nail of his thumb into green skin and pale yellow flesh. “Bucky,” he breathed. “The evidence will point towards Loki Laufeyson, but it's Bucky. Bring in him. Protect him from Schmidt, get him out of there. Please Sam.” 

“Of course I'll try my best, but finding him will be near impossible. We both know that from experience,” Sam said regretfully and it was true. Him and Steve spent over six months searching for Bucky after Steve had recovered from his near death experience. They found traces but nothing more and it was evident that their old friend didn't want to be found. Sam walked forward and pulled him into another hug, this one tighter than before as Steve hugged back.

“Stay safe,” Sam tried for a smile as they parted. “Remember why you're here.”

Steve nodded. “You too. And 'course, I got this,” he assured him. “And Sam..?”

The other turned back from where he was now lingering in the doorway. 

“Are you going to tell Fury?” Steve asked reluctantly.

Sam paused then finally spoke up. “...No. No I won't, not unless I have to. I'll be seeing you Steve.”

The door slipped shut and Steve sighed in relief, running a hand over his face as he sank down into one of his dining room chairs. He suddenly remembered he had another envelope and dragged himself back up to find his jacket, fingers fumbling a little in his rush as he pulled it out. Steve produced the small, square photograph that depicted his next target and his mouth went dry. He stared down at the familiar face clutched between his own shaking fingers and his eyes widened a little in horror.

It was Nick Fury. His director.

Steve didn't know what he was supposed to do. Did this mean Tony knew all along? Or was it just a frightening coincidence...? Either way, things were about to get messy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry for the wait! Had a very busy week. Hope you enjoy and thank you for comments and kudos! There is some more adult stuff at the end just in case x

“Tony? Please pay attention.”

Natasha's tone was impatient and almost tired from where she was lent back in his armchair, looking as graceful as ever. Clint was stood behind her, looking his usual tense self with his hands clasped behind his back neatly. Tony was now dressed in a shirt and suit trousers, half making an effort, though he still padded around in socks as he handed Romanoff a tumbler full of amber liquid. Tony went to take a seat on the sofa opposite, sipping at his own drink as he sank down into the leather. There was an odd sort of tension in the air, like Natasha felt uncomfortable.

“Bucky made the kill last night,” Natasha breathed. “He's awfully efficient.

“Wow. That was quick,” Tony blinked. “That's a reason to celebrate, right? But you don't look too happy.” 

“The police brought Loki in and interviewed him but then released him. Apparently they didn't have enough proof,” Natasha murmured, sipping at her own glass smoothly. “They'll go after Schmidt now, he's not best pleased. Though he's very deal-able with of course,” she sighed. “But I've had some of my people digging around in Thanos's things...I had them move in straight away about eleven last night. They've been digging since then and they've found some rather surprising news...”

“Get to the point Ginger.”

Her eyes narrowed at the nickname and Tony just grinned at her. Natasha sighed again then continued, “he killed Peggy Carter. You know the-”

“Assassin, yeah, yeah,” Tony waved off. “I met her once, she trained up Steve you know,” he said conversationally. 

Natasha's eyes widened, “what?” She asked, tone deadly.

“Natasha,” Tony dead-panned. “Steve's fine. We checked him out. It's all okay. Pepper did it for me, his story adds up. We can rely on him, and now, things are only going to get better right?” He shrugged, “why do you look so glum? Thanos is dead, our problems are solved.” 

“Solved?!” Natasha echoed harshly and stood, her form towering over Tony and the mobsterboss swallowed, suddenly feeling rather intimidated. Whatever he had done he already regretted it. Pissing Natasha Romanoff off was the last thing in the world Tony would ever strive to do. “Do you have any idea what you've done?” She asked sharply.

Tony's throat went dry, “you're really gonna have to fill me in here ...what exactly have I done Natasha?” He asked and stood slowly as he set his glass down, hands in his pockets. “Please do explain.” 

“You brought him into this,” Natasha hissed, brow knotted into a tight frown. “This is on you Stark,” she pushed against his chest then stepped away, running a hand over her face. “You fucking idiot!” She suddenly let out a bitter laugh and tilted her head back, “I bet Coulson isn't even dead...”

Tony was beginning to sound annoyed himself. “I told you, Steve is-”

“Peggy Carter was a cop Tony! She was undercover!” Natasha snapped, “Thanos discovered that and killed her but didn't tell us because why would he have? He hated all of us. She wasn't an assassin Tony, she was a fucking goddamn police officer.” 

Tony blinked and turned to face her, voice harsh when he breathed out, “you fucking what?”

*

Steve grimaced as he peeled the bandage away from his side. Underneath the skin had a new fresh, pink scar. He thumbed over it, remembering emptying the bullet into himself with a scrunched up face. He huffed and dropped it into the bin in the toilet before inspecting the wound in the bathroom mirror. It wasn't too bad and would hopefully fade in time. Not that it mattered to Steve really...but that scar was a memory of Tony Stark. Steve swallowed and looked at his expression in the mirror. 

He hardly recognised himself. 

Steve pulled on a soft cotton tee as he stepped through into the living room. The late evening light murky as it lit up his apartment. He moved to the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the bowl then freezing as he looked over to see the back of Tony's head. The man was sat on Steve's sofa, posture a lazy one. Tony's elbow was propped up on the sofa arm, hand lightly cradling a mobile. 

Steve's mobile. The mobile from the bookcase. The mobile he used to call Fury...

“Tony?” Steve breathed, his voice terribly quiet. The assassin swallowed thickly and his nails dug into the white flesh of the apple. “Tony-”

“Don't Rogers,” Tony cut in, voice firm and hoarse. He sounded tired. “Just don't, okay?”

Steve's chest seized with panic and his mind just went...blank as he stood there numbly, staring at the back of Tony's head with bated breath. He didn't move, hands hanging uselessly by his sides as the apple dropped onto the carpet with a thud. Then Tony was standing up and finally turned to face him with a hollow gaze. Steve held the mobsterboss's eyes reluctantly as he stepped over to the assassin It was like their first meeting all over again, Tony's gaze boring into him as if he were actually seeing Steve for real for the first time. And in an odd way, Steve supposed he was. 

How am I still alive? Was Steve's initial thought as Tony stepped even closer, noses inches apart as the mobsterboss's eyes flitted around studying his face. It didn't make sense...why hadn't Tony killed him yet? Steve had seen the price of betrayal and had inflicted it himself. 

This didn't...this didn't make any sense...

“You were always too good to be true,” Tony murmured and reached a hand up to cup Steve's cheek, the pad of his thumb dragging over his cheek bone. Steve lent into the touch on instinct without even thinking about and Tony smiled sadly, blinking and stepping away. He moved into the kitchen, tapping his fingers along the fake marble countertop with his free hand. When he turned back to look at Steve his gaze had hardened.

“You have two choices Rogers,” he told him plainly. “And I think you know what they are...”

Steve swallowed and nodded almost meekly, staring down at the carpet beneath him. Tony was dressed in an all black suit with subtle red details, he looked striking as ever and almost like the devil himself as he walked up to Steve again. Tony nudged his chin up with two fingers then gripped his jaw a little tightly, making Steve look at him. The tension in the room was suffocating and it was making Steve's breath catch a little. Tony seemed immune to it though, expression terrifyingly controlled as he spoke again. 

“You know what, Rogers?” Tony breathed, head cocked a little as he released his jaw.

“What?” Steve whispered, not knowing what else to say or do. 

“I think you need to make a call,” Tony murmured and pressed the phone into Steve's palm, his fingertips brushing against Steve's wrist purposefully drawing out a small shiver. His hot breath ghosted across Steve's cheek, their noses practically brushing now as Steve's blue eyes got lost in the hazel. “Hm, Stevie?”

His fingers moved over the phone keys without looking down and then Steve woodenly held the phone to his ear as the dial tone beeped in his ear. 

“Shield? Is everything okay? You got your visit today?” Fury's voice was no longer a comfort and it made a rotten feeling settle in Steve's gut.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed as Tony curled a hand around the back of his neck. “Everything's...well. We need to set up a meeting director. I can't talk about it over the phone.” 

Quiet followed for a few pregnant seconds. “Alright. Where?” 

“The usual place. Don't be late,” Steve murmured.

“Of course I won't shield,” Fury replied. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine director, perfectly,” Steve assured him, Tony's fingers digging into the back of his neck a little. “Perfectly...” he whispered then hung up, dropping the phone as Tony crashed their mouths together, the assassin's fingers running through the other man's hair. Steve was backed up against the countertop as they kissed, uncaring as it dug into his back as he kissed Tony back with vigor. Tony's tongue dipped into his mouth and slid against his own, drawing out a quiet moan from Steve. This...this felt right now was what made sense to Steve. Tony smirked against his lips as they broke for air, the look in his eyes practically predatory. 

“You're gonna kill him for me Stevie,” he said, voice gravelly as he dragged his fingers along his jaw. “And I'm gonna watch you do it. And it will be beautiful.” 

Steve nodded, letting out a soft gasp as Tony moved his hands down to cup his ass and squeeze. “Yes, yes,” he breathed, one hand curled around Tony's shoulder to ground himself. “Whatever you want...”

Tony made a satisfied noise at that, “and you know what I want right now, don't you Stevie?” He dragged his teeth down Steve's neck then sucked a mark, marking it dark and soothing it with the flat of his tongue before he pulled away to admire it. 

“I have an inkling,” Steve breathed, amusement and want glinting in his eyes as he took one of Tony's hands in his own and tugged him towards his bedroom, the way Tony just looked at him thrilling. So much desire and lust was churning behind those hazel eyes. Tony wanted him, even when he knew what Steve was, what he had done...regardless they were here, Tony pressing down on top of Steve as they fell onto his bed. 

“You're mine, all mine,” Tony hummed as he pushed Steve's shirt up over head and the assassin raised up his arms to help him. Tony was toxic, like a drug he was addictive and Steve was happy to indulge himself as Tony kissed at the fresh pink scar on his side, sucking on it and making him shudder. Tony was a bad man, he did terrible things, Steve reminded himself. But he didn't care as Tony crawled back up again to kiss him and Steve's fingers found their way to his shirt, popping open buttons then pushing it off of his shoulders along with his jacket. Steve's fingers trailed over the prominent and dangerous scar on Tony's chest, the look in his blue eyes a questioning one. 

“In the morning,” the mobsterboss murmured in a promise and he lent down to slant their mouths together in a messy kiss, fingers running through Steve's hair and lightly scratching at his scalp. Steve let out a pleased sound himself as he unashamedly ground up against Tony, letting out a quit gasp when their arousals rubbed together through fabric. Tony growled into the kiss and one hand slipped down into Steve's underwear to cup his ass. The assassin arced up into the touch a little on instinct as they parted for air. Tony only pulled away an inch, if that, their breaths mingling together as Steve's blue gaze got lost in the other's. 

“I'm yours,” Steve whispered, trailing his fingers down Tony's cheek surprisingly gently. Tony hesitated for a moment then lent forward to kiss him again but briefly this time. The look in his eyes as he pulled away again, Steve could tell...Tony believed him. 

“Where's your-” He began but Steve already knew what he was asking for. 

“Bedside, second drawer down,” Steve told him a little impatiently and soon Tony was squeezing lube onto his fingers after having dragged down Steve's underwear to expose him. Tony stretched him out slowly, using up to three fingers, his movements teasing as he crawled back down the bed to mouth at Steve's hard cock. When he sucked the head into his mouth and swirled with his tongue Steve bucked up into his touch, hands fisting the sheets as he let out a groan. 

“M'ready,” Steve uttered, breath catching as his body accepted Tony's three fingers easily. The mobsterboss hummed approvingly and pulled his fingers away then, Steve whining as his ass clenched around nothing. But just as Tony was pulling down his zipper, his own member having tented impressively in his pants Steve was pushing him down onto the bed and straddling him, expression a wanton one as he reached down and drew Tony's cock from out of it's underwear, giving it a few teasing strokes and swiping his thumb over the head. Tony let out a very pleased sound at that and ran a hand through Steve's hair almost tenderly. 

“You're so beautiful like this,” Tony told him softly as Steve sunk down onto his cock, back arching at the stretch and head tilting back with a quiet groan. And Steve believed him. He rode him with abandon, thighs quivering with the deep and steady pace as Tony thrust up into him, one hand on his hip subtly guiding each movement. Eventually Steve got the angle just right so every time he slid down Tony's cock dragged across his prostate perfectly. Steve's pace stuttered as he came close to coming undone and Tony curled his fingers around his cock, bringing him over the edge as he orgasmed with a cry. Steve clenched around Tony as he rode it out, coating the other's hand and chest in spent. Tony flipped them back over after that, seeking out his own pleasure as he fucked into Steve slowly but thoroughly, his forehead pressed against the other's as he hooked one leg over his shoulder, sliding in even deeper making Steve whimper.

Tony came inside of him with a moan and Steve shuddered at the sensation of being filled, both of them catching their breaths as he pulled out and laid down right next to him with a soft huff. He nuzzled against Steve's neck and the assassin lent into the touch, one hand braced against Tony's chest, his thumb drawing soothing circles over the mottled skin there. 

“Sleep now, we'll talk in the morning,” Tony rumbled and Steve just nodded in agreement, head tucked into the crook of the mobsterboss's shoulder as he closed his eyes, curling into the touch as a welcomed arm wrapped around his waist.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was just the last comment, it got me. I'm going back to uni in a few days and I just felt like returning to this before I left...I don't know why exactly but yeah. The delay is monstrous. If just one person reads this that's okay though. I just hope you enjoy it if you do. I always felt bad for leaving this story the way I did. I can't promise I'll write anymore but I have to say this is not the ending by any means for what I had planned out in my head before. x

“My parents died when I was very young in a car crash. I often suspected that Schmidt had a hand in it but of course by the time I was old enough to do something about it all traces of the event were gone. We were always competing ever since I can remember. The whole thing left me kind of reckless as I grew up with the entirety of the Stark Empire at my fingertips. I got careless, traded with the wrong people- and don't look at me like that, I mean the really wrong kinda people. I'm talking terrorist level of wrong. As you can imagine, things began to get out of hand...but me being as stubborn as I am was convinced I could handle things myself. Then before I knew it I was in Afghanistan, supposedly sealing some rather lucrative arms deal. But things didn't quite...go as planned.”

“They attacked me and my men with my own weapons. I got hurt, badly and I mean real badly. Shrapnel was scattered around my heart, and the shoddy operation to get it out in the back of a cave lead to this beautiful thing,” Tony hummed, his fingers skimming over the scar on his chest. “They kept me in captivity for weeks, had me building my own weapons for them. At one point I thought I'd be stuck in that cave forever. It was hell, but I eventually got myself out of it. Managed to build a sort of metal suit and weapons without them realising and broke myself out of there. Rhodey found me not long after that, it turned out he'd never stopped looking for me...heh, feels kinda ironic now. How much he cared, I mean. That was over ten years ago now though...and I learnt my lesson since then.” 

“Don't trust anyone,” Tony breathed and pushed himself up on his elbow, looking down at Steve in bed aside him who'd been listening intently. He dragged his fingertips down Steve's defined jawline and lent down to nuzzle at his cheek. “Guess I'm kinda shit at following my own rules. You got me good Rogers.”

“Maybe,” Steve murmured, running his fingers through Tony's hair. “But you got me better.” Tony's expression softened a little at that and he lent down to kiss him. Something fluttered in Steve's chest and he kissed him back on instinct, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains into his bedroom and dancing over them both. Tony kissed him languidly, tongue pressing at Steve's lips and the assassin's parted invitingly, humming as their tongues slid together. When they broke away Tony lent his forehead against Steve's, eyes getting lost in each other's.

“When will you meet him?” Tony asked.

It took Steve a moment to process the question before he answered. “Possible meet up dates of each month are the seventh, fourteenth, twenty first and the twenty eight.”

“So four days,” Tony said, brushing his thumb over Steve's cheek.

“Four days,” Steve repeated, leaning into his palm, turning his head to kiss his fingertips.

“Are you nervous?” Tony asked him softly, tracing the edge of the other's lips with his thumb. “It would make sense if you were,” he assured him. “This is your point of no return.”

“No,” Steve disagreed. “That point is long gone,” he said and Tony raised his brows in surprise and in question. “It was Thanos, those men…I killed them for you and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.” A half lie, and a sweet one at that as Steve kissed at Tony’s fingers. When Tony lent down to kiss him the assassin smiled against his lips. “You’ve really quite ruined me.” 

Tony curled a hand around his waist and tugged him closer. “Rather beautifully done, too, I think,” he rumbled, his voice against Steve’s ear making the blonde tremble. His fingers traversed lower, into the dip of Steve’s back and beyond. Steve arced up into his touch like he’d happily lay there forever. 

“I imagine you have a lot of questions for me, too,” Steve murmured and Tony hummed, hand moving back up to his waist for now. 

“I did just tell you my life story, if not a somewhat abbreviated version.”

“But would you believe me if I told you mine?” Steve whispered and Tony smiled sadly. 

The mobsterboss dragged his fingertips down Steve’s cheek. “I will once he’s dead.”

*  
That afternoon they moved back to the tower. Steve didn’t need to be told it was so they could monitor him- until the deed was done he was clearly a traitor, through and through. But Tony refused to give up him and it was almost heart breaking, to see the man so desperate. He’d lost so many in the past month…Steve supposed he didn’t want the list to be any longer. Pepper had given Steve a practically mortifying death glare as he’d stepped back inside. She looked about shocked that he was still alive as he had been. But the assassin just really counted himself lucky that she hadn’t tried to take him out herself, or at least, she hadn’t already.

Tony wasn’t very interested in talking in the days leading up to Fury’s death though, he was rather interested in other things. He had Steve in bed practically every minute of every day and when he wasn’t having sex with him Tony was off on his phone, or working on a tablet. Steve would sometimes lean his head on the other’s shoulder and watch him map out designs, he noted a lot were saved under folders were intriguing names such as ‘solar energy’ or ‘carbon neutral designs’. It seemed out of character for the other though, Steve didn’t see how such work could fit into his business. But he didn’t ask, he didn’t probe. He didn’t have a right to at the moment. 

It was two days in, the morning was just gone and the light coming in through the windows bright. Tony had his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, his touch somewhat gentle as he lent down to kiss the corner of his mouth. They’d stayed up well into the night, Steve riding Tony hard, knuckles white as he gripped the bedframe above for purchase. “You were always mine, weren’t you?” He whispered against Steve’s mouth. “The moment I had you, you were lost to them.”

A shiver ran down Steve’s spine at the words and he isn’t sure he likes it but he pressed closer all the same, legs tangling together. “I didn’t know I was yours until it was too late,” he agreed quietly and Tony smiled at that. He obviously liked what he’d heard. 

Tony fucked him after that, slow and thorough as Steve’s nails had dug into the other’s shoulders, his back arcing off of the mattress prettily like he was putting on a show. 

On the morning of the event itself they were both jittery, slipping against each other in the shower as they stole a few more minutes to themselves. Steve looked pale as they got into the car with Happy, another black car of a similar style followed on after them. They were probably trying to be discreet but Steve’s tenseness meant he was on alert. Tony was obviously bringing back up, in case Steve failed because then…well. They both knew what would happen then.

Tony spent the whole car journey trying to look more relaxed than he obviously felt, his hand on Steve’s knee the entire time. Sometimes his nails dug in a little but Steve didn’t think the man realised he was doing it. He didn’t look at the assassin once for the entire journey and it was almost like he was annoyed. 

“Going somewhere nice today Boss?”

“Not especially,” was Tony’s curt reply and Happy frowned but didn’t say anything. 

Happy dropped them off with a hint of concern of his eyes, Steve tried to smile to reassure him but he couldn’t bring himself to mean it. The façade was crumbling. The cracks had formed when Tony found out about who or rather what he really was. It like an abyss. Steve could feel himself sinking deeper, further into a suffocating darkness where the tang of blood in the air was something he enjoyed rather dreaded. When the embrace of a criminal, a murderer…a bad man, had brought him more pleasure than anyone else had in so long. A hand on his waist drew Steve back to the present. Tony squeezed lightly.

“Clint’s here, right? He followed us.”

“He’s a clean shot,” Tony told Steve quietly before stepping away from him and heading into the building.

Steve couldn’t tell if that was said with the intent of threat or comfort. 

*

Steve was nervous, for obvious reasons and Tony could tell. The assassin was quieter than usual, less sassy and more jumpy. His hands were clenched by his sides in tight fists and his back was too straight. Tony supposed it was understandable. Steve was about to kill his mentor, his ‘director’ for him; the final act of Tony’s beautiful corruption. And on how it made the mobsterboss feel giddy. Maybe the power was going to his head? Maybe he was going a little delirious with it all. Pepper thought he was insane for keeping Steve around but hadn’t Schmidt just shown perfectly how well a turned spy could work out? Steve was precious, irreplaceable and whilst his betrayal had hurt (oh how it had, gut-wrenchingly so) he was worth preserving and this one final act could fix everything. It would prove everything. How Tony had won Steve over, who he worked for…

Who he belonged to. 

It was a modest block of apartments, Tony’s suit a little too flashy for the setting but that was just how he liked it. Steve had told him Fury would be waiting in the penthouse suit. That it should be empty aside from him. Clint was in the building opposite, sniper rifle set up with the latest scoping tech (courtesy of Stark himself, of course) in case things turned sour. But Tony sincerely hoped they wouldn’t. 

“You can do this,” Tony told him in the elevator as he straightened out the collar of Steve’s jacket for him. The blonde nodded shakily, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “It’s just like the others. You’ve not let me down yet. Well…you know what I mean.” 

Tony wanted to kiss him. He wanted to grab the lapels of his jacket and slant their mouths together in some hot, meaningful embrace but he hesitated and then the lift doors were opening and the moment was over. Just gone. Like that. In a second. Steve stepped away from him and out of the lift and Tony had to stop himself when he realised he was reaching out for the other’s hand. What was wrong with him right now? He wasn’t usually like this…so, sentimental. Sure Tony had spent days on end in bed with plenty of people but no escapade had ever felt as intimate as this. Now all their cards were bared Tony felt oddly closer to the assassin and in that sense was almost glad for the betrayal. 

He followed Steve down the corridor and watched the man’s hands twitching by his sides. Tony swallowed and ran a hand over his face in a calming gesture, exhaling deeply as Steve paused outside the door. He produced a key, from god knows where, and opened the door with a soft creak.

The apartment was modern, stylish even in Tony’s eyes though evidently unlived in. It has an open plan living area and it’s unnerving to see it almost completely empty. There’s no sign of the director either but that doesn’t seem to stress Steve anymore. He just looked jumpy by this point, eager to get it over and done with. 

“I see you’ve brought a friend Rogers.” 

They both turned at the smooth rumble of Fury’s voice from where the man has appeared, presumably out of one of the bedrooms. The director is bold enough to look unperturbed at Tony’s presence and he has to admit he’s impressed. The leather coat, the eye patch…the guy certainly has a terrific way about him, perhaps a tad over dramatic but Tony can understand the indulgence. Steve doesn’t say anything, Tony can see his hands trembling by his sides, how hard this is for him…

“I’m so s-sorry.”

It’s over so quickly. One minute Steve is stepping forward, Fury’s stepping back and then there’s a glint of a knife. Fury’s go wide as the blade sinks in. There’s bloody everywhere too, pouring out of the director’s neck as Steve eased him down onto the floor, whispering something to him. Tony has feeling it’s more apologies. He felt numb as he watched the scene unfold and once there’s a significant pool of blood and the man is clearly well and truly dead the mobsterboss moves forward.

Steve gasped as he was pulled into Tony’s embrace and allows himself to be tugged up, the knife forgotten on the floor near their feet. Steve was shaking in Tony’s grasp, noticeably so as he buried his face against the man’s shoulder. Tony just rubbed soothing circles in the small of Steve’s back, assuring him quietly. “It’s over now. You did it. It’s okay Steve, it’s over now…”

“Sorry. S-so sorry…” 

In hindsight Tony was probably foolish but he was so caught up in the heat of the moment it had never occurred to him. Obviously in the days leading up to this Steve had been searched, every movement watched to ensure he couldn’t gather or record anything. His entire flat was purged after him and Steve had left and the records that had been made, pictures of Tony’s contacts and some snapped shots of contracts that had been laid on desks too…all destroyed. Everything Steve had gotten on him was gone in a heartbeat. Tony felt untouchable in that moment, ethereal almost because everything he wanted was coming into place. Oh so perfectly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Tony whispered and pulled back a fraction, his and Steve’s breaths mingling. “You’ve redeemed yourself, don’t you see? It’s all okay now Stevie…” He curled a hand around the back of the assassin’s neck. “Stane, Hammer, Obadiah, Rhodey and now this…my perfect little soldier.” Steve’s blue eyes flickered up at that, something bright gleaming behind them. “Now Thanos is out of the way all we have to do is deal with Schmidt, and then we’ll be unstoppable,” he murmured but he was then cut off when Steve lent in to kiss him. It was bitter sweet, fierce and yet it was over too quickly. Before Tony knew it Steve was pulling away.

There was something new in those blue eyes now. Something…different. Something odd sent a shiver down Tony’s spine. He didn’t like it. 

“I was never yours.”

The words rang in his ears like a scream, harrowing and piercing. Tony practically stumbled. “W-what-“

Then Steve was grabbing the lapels of Tony’s jacket and tugging him up and the mobsterboss was suddenly reminded of just how damned strong the other was, how powerful. How easily Steve could just snap him too if he so felt like it. “I was never yours,” he hissed into Tony’s face and made the man flinch. Then he was released and he did stumble back, clutching onto the table behind him. Steve looked different. He didn’t look like his Steve, he looked angry. Hurt. Younger. The words still hung in Tony’s mind like a mantra as his brain refused to process them. He must have looked stupid in that moment, he thought, lips parted in surprise and expression broken as he struggled to process what was being said to him. 

Had…had Pepper been right? 

Tony was barely aware of the SHIED agents rushing into the apartment. Fury standing up and grimacing at the sticky fake blood all over his person. Clint emerging in the doorway, looking his usual stoic self. Tony had been played, beautifully too. This elaborate design all entwined around him was finally coming undone and there was apparently nothing Tony could do to stop it. 

“Has Romanoff been detained too?” The director asked and Clint just replied with a flat:

“Yes Sir.” 

Then it was Tony’s turn to get angry as he realised what this was, when Fury produced a recorded device from his own jacket pocket and placed it into the hand of an agent to take away. It was all happening too quickly, in a blur…he blinked once. Twice. Three times. 

Cuffs were clicked onto his wrists by Steve himself and Tony’s anger boiled over, “fuck you Rogers.”

Steve smiled sadly and it didn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t you remember? You already did,” and with that he pulled away.

“Fuck you Steve! FUCK ALL-“

*

Steve stepped outside into the apartment corridor and let out a shuddered breath as he slumped against a wall. Out. He needed to get out…He walked woodenly. Nothing felt real. Each breath he took, the ground beneath his feet…Steve knew what this should feel like. It should feel like a weight was lifted from his chest, like he was free but it wasn’t like that at all. He just felt like he was being suffocated. It was as if the world was closing in on him and it was dizzying and-

“Steve.”

A hand on his arm. It was Sam.

“Come on.” 

He was being lead into a car, set down in the passenger seat. Sam’s voice was a warm comfort, dragging him back to reality word by word. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then to the station, if you can face it-“

“I don’t know Sam. I need- I need to think.”

“Of course. Of course…you take as much time as you need. It’s just-“

“Just what?”

“Bucky’s being held there. He’s asking for you.” Sam’s hand returned to his shoulder and gave a light squeeze, “hey. Breathe man. It’s over, okay? It’s over now.”

“Over, yeah, sure…” Steve wheezed out, staring down at his hands in his lap that were scarlet from all the fake blood. “It’s over,” he whispered to himself but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.


End file.
